BATMAN: Crime, Crime Everywhere
by Bruce Wayne
Summary: The Bat-Clan do battle with some of the Caped Crusader's greatest foes as they attempt to steal a fortune in gems. Chapter 19 FINAL is now up! Catwoman solves the case as Batman wraps up all the suspects.
1. It Starts

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 1 - IT STARTS  
  
A mild summer evening in Gotham City. Earlier, the citizens of this vast metropolis on the East Coast of the United States had enjoyed a rather relaxing and peaceful day. Cooler temperatures were now prevailing over a recent heat spell.  
  
Most people had returned home from a busy day at work, but a small contingent of Gotham's well-to-do citizens were at Madame Soleil's Wax Museum, located in the city's Uptown section. Phil Friedman, the world renown curator of the museum, was explaining to some benefactors the latest acquisition of material that was to be used in the production of wax figures.  
  
"We really should thank the French government," Freidman said, "for allowing us to purchase this very special wax." He pointed to the large package that laid before him on the table. "With this Universal Wax Solvent we will be able to mix it with a regular wax formula and our new creations will look even more lifelike!"  
  
The patrons in the room applauded. Friedman smiled, nodded in acknowledgement and held up his hands for silence. "Yes, friends, within the next three months, you will be able to tell all your frien ..."  
  
At the entrance of the large room, four oddly dressed men walked in. One of the the men, the smaller one, wore a garish green suit with black question marks all over it. A black shirt, a green tie that was the same color as the suit, and a black derby on top of his head completed the ensemble.  
  
The man was the infamous master criminal known as the Riddler. His real name, according to police records, was Edward Nigma. For many years, the Riddler had time and time again butted heads and tried to outwit the Caped Crusader, Batman. The Riddler, for the most part, was a victim of his own undoing. Batman had been able to foil the Riddler's plots because Nigma had one vice while committing his crimes -- he always had a compulsion to leave clues in the form of riddles.  
  
Not knowing that the criminals had entered the room, Friedman continued explaining what the Universal Wax Solvent meant to the museum. "... and the French government has always restricted the export of this material because if it were ever to fall into the ..."  
  
All of sudden a maniacal laugh was heard. The people in the room all turned to see who was finding humor in a humorless subject. The Riddler and his men quickly moved to the table and to the side of the curator.  
  
The Riddler called to his men, "Grab the Universal Wax Solvent!"  
  
Friedman protested, "YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"  
  
"Riddle me this!" the man in green said. "Why is an artist like me?"  
  
The curator looked at the Riddler dumbfounded.  
  
"Answer: because he steals the scene!" He laughed at Friedman. The Riddler continued, "When you see Batman, tell him this riddle -- What does the Gotham State Building, a yellow bird on television, and a seven-foot tall man have in common?" The inhuman laugh was heard again.  
  
The Riddler was still laughing, seemingly in hysterics, when he threw a plastic capsule onto the floor. Green smoke billowed out -- it was a very effective smoke screen to cover the escape of the criminals.  
  
The people in the room started to cough. When most of the smoke dissipated, someone yelled, "CALL THE POLICE!"  
  
***  
  
Twenty minutes later in the office of Police Commissioner James W. Gordon, the top brass of the Gotham City Police Department had assembled after hearing the Riddler had committed another crime.  
  
Gordon, the long-time leader of the department, was talking on the telephone. "Yes, yes, we're working on it. What was that riddle again?" He wrote down the riddle on a scratch pad of paper. "... Uh-huh, okay, thank you, Mister Friedman. ... Yes, we'll do everything we can. Yes, thank you ... We will, thank you."  
  
Chief of the Department Clancy O'Hara looked at Gordon. "The curator seemed upset, Commissioner."  
  
"He has reason to be, Chief. The Riddler has stolen something that is called Universal Wax Solvent from the wax museum. The curator said that the solvent could be very dangerous in the wrong hands."  
  
The face of Chief O'Hara indicated that he couldn't quite understand the significance of what the Riddler had taken. "Of what use could the Riddler have with a universal wax solvent, Commissioner?"  
  
"I don't know, Chief," Gordon replied. "That infernal Prince of Puzzlers has outwitted us a dozen times."  
  
The Commissioner looked to his senior officers. "What about it, men? O'Hara? Inspector Bash? Any of you think you can handle him?"  
  
All the senior brass of the Gotham City Police Department looked to the floor or shook their heads. Gordon turned and all eyes followed to a bright red phone that was under a glass cover on a small table to the side.  
  
The police officials walked slowly to the phone. Gordon took the cover off, and picked up the receiver, his finger was poised over the single black button on the phone. The Commissioner spoke slowly, "I don't know who he is behind that mask of his but I know when we need him ... and we need him now."  
  
Gordon pushed the button and the telephone glowed a bright red.  
  
***  
  
At stately Wayne Manor, home of billionaire Bruce Wayne, a cocktail party was taking place. Many of Gotham City's elite had come to Wayne's home for a small charity event honoring a local children's orphanage. Being an orphan himself, the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises had always championed the cause to assist orphans.  
  
Bruce Wayne's butler, Alfred Pennyworth, was passing by the open doors of Wayne's private study, when he suddenly heard the distinctive beeping of the Bat-Phone. Alfred entered the room, closed the door behind him, and walked to the table where the phone was. The Bat-Phone was glowing on-and- off with each beep.  
  
The butler picked up the receiver, held it about six inches away from his mouth, and with just a slight trace of his English accent noticeable, said, "I'll call him, sir."  
  
Alfred put down the receiver and went over to one of the many shelves of books in Wayne's private study. He picked out a red book and placed it on a silver serving tray. He then left the study to inform Bruce Wayne.  
  
Meanwhile, in the mansion's main living room, Dick Grayson had just arrived from the nearby town of Bludhaven for the event. Dick gently slapped Tim Drake on the shoulder.  
  
"Bro, how's it goin?" Drake asked. Though they were not related, the two had something very much in common. Both had either been and were currently the masked vigilante assistant to Batman, known as Robin, the Boy Wonder.  
  
"Hi, Tim, just got in," Dick replied.  
  
Bruce Wayne walked by and shook hands with Dick.  
  
"Hi, Bruce," Dick said as he looked around the room. "Where's Selina?"  
  
Bruce Wayne's eyes hardened and he said to his former ward sharply, "What do I look like? Her keeper?"  
  
Bruce Walked away.  
  
"Ooooookay," Dick muttered under his breath to Tim. "Let me guess? The two of them had another fight."  
  
Tim tried not to smile and just nodded.  
  
Dick just shook his head. "The two of them are nuts, you know that, don't you?"  
  
Tim tried not to smile and just nodded.  
  
Alfred entered the room and walked to the side of Bruce Wayne. Dick and Tim saw the red book on the tray and knew what it meant. For the benefit of anyone else in the room that might had been listening, Alfred said in a stage whisper, "Sir, I forgot to mention earlier today that this book arrived via parcel service. I thought that you might like to see it."  
  
Bruce Wayne picked up the red book and read its title: "Recidivism. It's History And Causes."  
  
Bruce looked at Alfred and said, "Yes, Alfred, I've been expecting this for a while. Thank you." He looked up and saw his secret partners. "Dick, I think we should go to the study and compare this edition of the book I just received with the old edition. Tim, I think you would be interested in this as well."  
  
"Okay, Bruce," Drake answered.  
  
When Bruce, Dick and Tim cleared the living room, they broke into a trot toward the study. They burst into the room. Bruce picked up the red telephone receiver and asked, "Yes, Commissioner?"  
  
On the other end of the line, Gordon simply said, "It's the Riddler."  
  
"We'll be right there," Wayne replied. Bruce hung up the Bat-Phone. He looked to Dick and Tim and told them, "It's the Riddler."  
  
Tim jokingly slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. "Holy ..."  
  
"Don't you even start!" Dick quickly interrupted and pointed at him.  
  
Bruce knew that not only was he going to have his hands full with the Riddler, he was going to have to keep his two junior partners under control during the mission.  
  
Wayne placed his hands on the bust of Shakespere that was next to the Bat- Phone. Out of habit, Dick turned the knob on the revealed switch once to the right and then back again. Suddenly, a grandfather clock in the room swung open revealing the secret entrance to the Batcave.  
  
Bruce said, "Let's go!"  
  
To be continued ... 


	2. Batman On The Move

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 2 - BATMAN ON THE MOVE  
  
Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, and Tim Drake entered the fabulous Batcave and quickly went to their respective costume vaults. Bruce put on his Batman costume that was gray in color with a black cowl, cape, gauntlets, trunks, and boots. Around his waist he wore a yellow utility belt which contained various gas capsules, small explosives, antidote pills, knives, Bat-A- Rangs, and other various crimefighting tools.  
  
On the Caped Crusader's chest was a black bat insignia that was encircled in yellow. The skintight costume was meant to strike fear into the hearts of Gotham's criminals.  
  
Batman's costume, as well as Nightwing's and Robin's, was made of a triple- weave of bullet-proof Kevlar material.  
  
Nightwing's costume was considerably different and simpler than Batman's. It was black and dark blue in color. Nightwing simply wore a dark blue mask that covered his eyes.  
  
Robin was dressed in four different colors. He wore a bright red vest over a green shortsleeve shirt. He quickly put on the black tights, green boots and green gloves. His long cape was black on the outside and yellow on the inside. He wore a green mask that covered his eyes. The R-emblem on the left upper portion of his chest could be removed and thrown as a razor- sharp shuriken.  
  
The Batcave was the headquarters of the Masked Manhunter's never-ending battle against crime and evil. There were four levels in all to the crimefighting command center. The main level contained the costume vaults, the garage for the Batmobiles, and the ultra-modern and highly- sophisticated crime lab.  
  
In the center of the main level, located on a huge hydraulic turntable, was the Batmobile. The Batmobile was a black, newer-looking, non-descript four- door sedan that contained computer and communications equipment, as well as various types of offensive and defensive weapons. Though much different than the old, more sleek, sporty models that Batman used in the past, the Batmobile was still the fastest vehicle on the streets of Gotham City.  
  
The second level was the real nerve center of the Batcave. This is where the vast computer and communications equipment were set up in a magnficent operations center. This level also contained Batman's famed Trophy Room, the hydrogen generator that powered the entire undergound complex, and the gymnasium.  
  
The very lowest level was where the subway rocket terminal and the Batboat mooring were located. Also stored on the lowest level were the tanks that contained gasoline for the Batmobile and jet fuel for the Batplane and Batcopters, which were kept on the highest level of the cave.  
  
Batman got in behind the wheel of the Batmobile and Robin sat down in the front passenger seat. Since Nightwing no longer usually rode with Batman, he got into the rear. All three snapped on their seatbelts. Batman pressed the ignition button and though all three could feel the power of the machine though hardly a sound could be heard.  
  
Robin said jokingly for Nightwing's benefit, "Atomic batteries to power ... turbines of speed ... What the hell was that supposed to mean anyway?"  
  
Not happy with Robin's teasing, Nightwing yelled from the rear seat, "Shut up!"  
  
The Batmobile came out of a concealed hole on a side road under Wayne Manor. A warning horse that blocked the entrance to the cave automatically went down. After the Batmobile went over it, the warning horse automatically popped back up. The Batmobile was now on a main highway going toward Gotham City, which was fourteen miles away.  
  
In less than fifteen minutes, the Batmobile arrived in front of Gotham Police Headquarters. In Commissioner Gordon's sixth-floor office, Gordon was explaining to Batman, Robin and Nightwing, " ... and he fled with the Universal Wax Solvent."  
  
"Of course he left a riddle." Batman stated in a calm tone.  
  
"Begorrah, you bet he did!" exclaimed Chief O'Hara.  
  
Batman asked, "What is the riddle?"  
  
Reading from the notes he took, Gordon told the Caped Crusader, "What does the Gotham State Building, a yellow bird on television, and a seven-foot tall man have in common?"  
  
"We couldn't figure that out," O'Hara told the costumed heroes.  
  
Nightwing yelled, "That's an easy one! They're all BIG!"  
  
"Oh, you've done it again, old chum," a smiling Robin said in a sarcastic tone.  
  
Nightwing stared a hole into the junior partner of the team.  
  
"Big? Now what's that supposed to mean?" asked O'Hara.  
  
Batman replied, "I'm not sure, Chief. Of course the Riddler only commits big crimes. But I think he's trying to tell us something more bizzare, something more unusual."  
  
The door of the office opened and a beautiful young woman in a wheel-chair came in. She had long red hair and glasses.  
  
The Commissioner looked up. "Barbara! What do you want, dear?"  
  
Barbara Gordon was the commissioner's adopted daughter. She was also known to the Bat-Clan as Oracle. At one time, she was the ever-resourceful Batgirl. But her career was cut short by a bullet fired by the Joker. Now Barbara was a computer and intelligence-gathering expert who provided invaluable assistance to Gotham's crimefighting heroes while they were in the field.  
  
"Oh, daddy, I thought we might go to dinner together this evening," she replied. "But I now see that you're busy. Hello Batman, Robin ..." She paused and put a special emphasis on the word, "Nightwing."  
  
"A pleasure, Miss Gordon." Nightwing said smiling.  
  
Commisioner Gordon told his daughter, "I'm sorry, Barbara, but not tonight. We have some trouble."  
  
"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" asked the woman.  
  
Robin explained, "The Riddler is on the loose again, Miss Gordon."  
  
"The Riddler?" she said in an awed voice. "What's he done now?"  
  
"He's stolen something called a Universal Wax Solvent from the wax museum in Uptown," Batman told her.  
  
Barbara replied, "That sounds terrible!" She started to turn her wheelchair around, but stopped to look at Nightwing. "Well, I guess I'll let you men do your work. I'll just stop by the library before I eat. Good-bye."  
  
"Uh, Miss Gordon," Nightwing said before she could leave. "If you are interested in a nice dinner, may I suggest D'Anunzio's, two blocks west of here and near the library. Very good food and not very expensive."  
  
Barbara Gordon smiled. "Why, thank you, very much, Nightwing. I've been there before and might just go there this evening. Do you dine there often?"  
  
"Not in this outfit," he told her with a straight face.  
  
Barbara rolled her eyes at him and smirked.  
  
Each of the five men in room said good-bye to her as she left.  
  
Chief O'Hara then turned back to Batman and asked, "Well, Batman, where do we start?"  
  
Batman replied honestly, "I'm not sure, Chief. The Riddler may have the next move."  
  
To be continued ... 


	3. The Villians Meet

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 3 - THE VILLIANS MEET  
  
The Benbow Tavern was located in the Midtown section of Gotham City, not very far from downtown. The large building contained a busy bar on the first floor and had lofts on the upper three stories.  
  
In one of those lofts, on the top floor, a strange and mysterious meeting was starting to take place.  
  
Nine oddly dressed men were talking around a table in the center of the room. Three of the men wore black turtleneck shirts and black derby's on their heads. Three others wore red short-sleeve shirts with blue jeans. The remaining three wore green short-sleeve shirts and black pants. They all had the look of hardened criminals.  
  
Suddenly, a whirlwind of motion raced into the room. It was woman dressed in a tightfitting red, white and black harlequin outfit. Her face was covered in white makeup with a black mask around her eyes.  
  
She went over to the men seated at the table. Smiling broadly, she took the hand of one of the henchmen and shook it while saying, "Harley Quinn, pleased to meetcha!"  
  
A very loud laugh was heard coming from outside the room. It seemed to be coming closer.  
  
Harley smiled even more broadly and stood up straight, addressing the men. "A-a-a-hem!" she cleared her throat and spoke in a loud voice, "Look alive, wage slaves! Preeeesenting - the Caliph of Clowns, that Mogul of Montebanks, the Clown Prince of Crime - the One and Only - JOKER!!"  
  
As if on a prearranged cue, the homicidal maniac walked into the room as if he were walking onto a stage. He laughed as if someone has just told him an amusing story.  
  
The very tall and thin man wore a purple suit with a green shirt and a black string tie. His facial features were a combination of ghastly and comical. He had green hair, a white face, and had red lips upturned in a permanent smile. The terrible thing was -- he wasn't wearing any makeup.  
  
Another odd sound could be heard coming from the corridor outside the room. It sounded similar to a duck call. "Squack, quack, squack." Next to enter the room was the diabolical Penguin.  
  
The Penguin's appearance was almost the opposite of the Joker. The Penguin was short and round. He had a long, pointed nose and carried an umbrella. He wore a black tuxedo with a monocole and was smoking a cigarette in a long holder.  
  
The Penguin, whose real name was Oswald Cobblepot, was known for his arsenal of different types of umbrellas. Some were guns. Others emitted jets of knockout gas. They could also contain swords or even parachutes.  
  
Another loud laugh was heard. This one was high-pitched and filled with menacing mirth. The Riddler was the next super-criminal to waltz into the room, giggling to himself for some unknown reason.  
  
The Riddler was now dressed in a green, tightfitting outfit that had black question marks all over it.  
  
A podium was dragged out of a of corner and positioned at the front of the room. The henchman also moved the table and arranged the chairs to face the podium. The Joker marched slowly and smartly to stand behind the dias. He looked seriously into the face of everyone in the room, like a general inspecting his troops.  
  
In a loud and clear voice he began, "Friends, Romans, lend me your ears!"  
  
"YOU TELL'EM MISTAH J!!" Harley yelled out. She nudged the henchman next to her with her elbow and asked in a low voice, "Isn't my puddin' poetic?"  
  
The Joker cocked his head and glared at Harley Quinn.  
  
Harley quickly looked to the henchman on the other side of her. "Who said that!? Did you say that?!"  
  
The man looked at her dumbfounded, unsure of what to say.  
  
The Joker kept his eyes on Harley, seemingly staring a hole through her.  
  
Harley replied to the glare by covering her mouth with her hand.  
  
The Clown Prince of Crime cleared his throat and started his speech again, "Friends, Roooomans, lend me your ears! ...  
  
This time Harley threw a couple of phony, plastic, novelty ears at him.  
  
The Joker tried to keep his temper under control. He sighed heavily and then continued. "With us joining forces, there is nothing to stop us. Not even Batman!" He laughed. "There are too many of us. If we stick together, there is no possible way Batman can defeat us. We considerably outnumber the Bat-Circus of trapeze artists."  
  
The Penguin interrupted the speech, "Cut to the chase, Mister Joker!"  
  
"Let him talk, Penguin!" the Riddler sneered.  
  
The Joker raised his hands and his voice, "Friends, please." He laughed. "Why should we fight amongst ourselves? Together we are unbeatable!"  
  
"UNBEATABLE!" Harley echoed loudly as she punched her fist into the air.  
  
The Joker looked over both of his shoulders. "Is there an echo in here?" He laughed again. "We will defeat the Fatman and become wealthy!"  
  
"WEALTHY!" yelled Harley happily.  
  
The Joker reached into the waistband of his pants and withdrew a very long barrelled handgun. Everyone in the room immediately dived to the floor.  
  
He laughed at the site of all his colleagues cowering on the floor, most of them covering their heads with their arms.  
  
The Joker placed the gun on the podium and warned, "I got it right here in easy reach, Harl."  
  
The criminals climbed back into their chairs. The infamous villian continued with his speech, "As I was sayin' before I was rudely interrupted ..." He glared at Harley again. "... We will defeat the Masked Hodads and make the Gotham Diamond District are very own playground. We will all become wealthy beyond our dreams!" He laughed hysterically at some other insane thought that ran through his head.  
  
The other criminals in the room applauded. Always the ever consummate ham, the Joker took a deep bow.  
  
The Penguin asked, "What is our next move, Mr. Joker?"  
  
"Riddler and I are going to the Gotham City main library, just a short distance from here, and check out a book." the Joker answered.  
  
Another question came from the Penguin, "What's the big deal? Why don't we just send one of our henchmen to get the book?"  
  
The Joker laughed and looked around the room. "Does anyone here have a library card, hmmmm? No! I didn't think so! Besides, Pengy, the book is kept in a special vault. Only a few people in Gotham City are even allowed to look at this particular book and even they are not allowed to check it out of the library. In the wrong hands -- that means US! -- it's a very dangerous book. When we read the book and follow the directions, we will be able to navigate our way secretly throughout the entire Diamond District without anyone spotting us!" He ended his explanation with another laugh.  
  
Riddler remarked, "Let's go before the library closes."  
  
Joker laughed. "Oh, like that would stop us anyway?! Right you are, Mr. Riddler. Let's go, Harl, I'm takin' you out for some entertainment!"  
  
"Awww, puddin, you're too nice to me," Harley purred.  
  
To be continued ... 


	4. Checking Out A Book

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 4 - CHECKING OUT A BOOK  
  
It was almost closing time at the Gotham City Main Public Library Building. The main library was a new building that had been open for only four months. The new, three-story structure was located along the banks of the Gotham River.  
  
During the day, a work crew had been working on the construction of a new municipal water tower located behind the library. The water tower was only partially finished. At night, the workers would just lock up their heavy equipment and go home.  
  
Inside the library, Barbara Gordon was at a table looking at some research papers for the Gotham Historical Society. Over the years, Barbara had maintained her keen interest in the history of Gotham City. She was recognized as one of the foremost experts on the subject.  
  
Barbara thought to herself, "I'm almost done here." She glanced at the watch on her left wrist. "Good thing because it's almost closing time." The young lady reached for her cellular phone in her handbag. "I'll call daddy and ask him one more time if he wants to go out for dinner. He'll probably say no."  
  
At police headquarters, Commissioner Gordon answered the call on his private line. "Gordon," he simply answered.  
  
On the other end: "Daddy, are you sure you won't go out for dinner? This is your last chance."  
  
"Oh, Barbara, I'm sorry. I can't. Batman is still here and we're trying to figure out the Riddler's next move. I'll catch a sandwich or something later tonight," replied the Commissioner.  
  
"Well, I understand, daddy ..."  
  
Not far from where Barbara Gordon was sitting, at the main desk, the Riddler and the Joker were questioning a librarian.  
  
"Oh, dear madam? We're interested in checking out a book," said the Joker with a smile.  
  
"Of course," the woman answered pleasantly. "Do you have it? Or is it a special book that I'll have to get for you?"  
  
The Joker laughed. "Oh, I do believe it's special. Yes, indeed. The title of the book is ..." He had to stop to laugh. "... The Secret Subterranean Architecture Of Gotham City."  
  
The librarian was intrigued that these two odd looking men were interested in that particular book. "Most certainly, sir. That book is kept in the vault behind me. May I see your green card?"  
  
The Joker laughed in genuine amusement. "My green card? I'm afraid I don't have one." Pointing to his head, he asked, "Will my green hair do, instead?" He laughed again.  
  
"Oh, I'm afraid not, sir," the woman replied seriously. "For security purposes, anyone who wishes to view that particular book must show their official Gotham City green security card." She then lowered her voice almost to a whisper and told the two men, "The card is signed by Batman." She nodded knowingly to the two villians.  
  
The Joker laughed heartily. "Indeed. Really? Well, I'm a close friend of Batman. Perhaps you've seen pictures of us together in the newspapers? You might say I'm greatly responsible for Batman's reputation."  
  
The woman was delightfully surprised by the Joker's statement. "Really? How interesting."  
  
"How about my friend's, green suit, here? Will this do?" The Joker asked as he turned toward the Riddler.  
  
"No, I'm afraid not ..."  
  
The Riddler interrupted, "Riddle me this! What can be stripped, blown, cracked, drilled and opened? Answer -- A SAFE!" He giggled.  
  
The librarian was becoming alarmed by these two men, "What are you talking about?"  
  
The Joker laughed along with the Riddler. "Oh, dear lady, what my esteemed associate means is that you will kindly get that book for us. No matter what."  
  
The woman stood her ground and protested. In a scolding voice, she said, "I will not. I told you ..."  
  
"NO! You listen to US," the Riddler interrupted.  
  
The Joker pulled out his long barrelled gun from the waistband of his pants and pointed it at the librarian. The woman stepped back in horror, her hand clasped to her mouth.  
  
The Riddler continued, "We need that book. Now open that safe or ..."  
  
Barbara Gordon was still talking to her father on her cellular phone. "Daddy! The Joker and the Riddler are here at the library! Right now!"  
  
Back at police headquarters, the astonished commissioner asked his daughter, "Barbara?! Are you sure, dear?"  
  
"Daddy, the Joker is pointing a gun at one of the librarians!"  
  
The Commissioner looked to the Caped Crusaders and said, "Batman! The Joker and the Riddler are at the Gotham Public Library. Barbara says they're holding a gun on a librarian!"  
  
"Holy Tip-Off!" Robin declared while punching his right fist into the palm of his left hand.  
  
Nightwing shoved Robin in the back, who stumbled a step.  
  
"To the Batmobile!" Batman ordered.  
  
Batman, Robin and Nightwing ran out the door.  
  
Chief O'Hara immediately picked up another phone, punched a button and announced, "Clear all exits for the Batmobile! I repeat, clear all exits for the Batmobile."  
  
Back at the library, the Joker threatened, "Open the safe, dear lady."  
  
The woman, now knowing that she was in the company of desperate criminals, was very nervous and turned the dial for the combination of the safe with a shaking hand. She failed three times before she finally succeeded.  
  
The Riddler roughly pushed the librarian aside and pulled open the heavy door. He started rummaging through the vault. "I don't see it, Joker! I can't find it ... Aha!" He giggled. "Here it is!" He came out of the vault with a book in his hands. "Ahhh, we're business Mr Joker."  
  
"And what kind of business is that?" asked a voice from behind the two criminals.  
  
The voice was very familiar to the two villians. They turned around very slowly and were amazed by who they saw.  
  
"Batman?! How did you get here? We left no clues that we were coming here," the Joker said. Then he turned angrily to the Riddler. "Or did you, Riddler?!"  
  
The Riddler answered, "No! There was no time to leave a riddle for Batman. We had to hurry to get here in time."  
  
Robin answered their question, "A police report, Joker. We just happened to be in the neighborhood."  
  
Nightwing slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand and said with menace in his voice, "I think we should clean up the neighborhood."  
  
The Joker tried to stay brave and calm in front of the crimefighters. "We came prepared. MEN! GET THEM!" he yelled.  
  
"Me, too, puddin?" Harley asked quickly.  
  
"YES!" replied the Joker in an exasperated tone.  
  
Six henchman and Harley Quinn attacked the Caped Crusaders from behind.  
  
Nightwing executed a perfect mule kick into one henchman's groin. The man dropped to the floor like he was hit with a pile of bricks. Nightwing turned slightly and backhanded another hardguy across the face which sent the man sprawling.  
  
Batman dived to the floor. A crook went flying over him, missing his would- be tackle.  
  
Robin was able to grab Harley from behind and had a bear hug on her. She was jumping around like a jack-in-the-box. Squirming and screaming, Harley warned Robin, "Hey! Watch those hands, Boy Wonder!"  
  
Three criminals jumped on Robin. Nightwing saw what was happening and went to his aid. One henchman who was standing in his way was knocked down by a flying drop kick from the martial arts expert.  
  
Barbara Gordon, who always hated to miss the action ever since she could no longer be Batgirl, wheeled her way closer to watch the entire scene.  
  
Nightwing reached the pile of bodies on top of Robin. He picked one man up and threw him several feet. The former Boy Wonder tapped another attacker on the shoulder. The henchman turned to look and Nightwing punched him to the floor.  
  
As Harley was crawling away from the pile, Robin was able to flip over the remaining crook who attacked him.  
  
The Riddler and the Joker teamed up to attack Batman. The Dark Knight punched the Joker. Then he gave the Riddler a punch to the jaw. But before Batman could punch the Joker again, Nightwing leveled the Clown Prince of Crime with a flying drop kick which sent the Joker flying over a table near Barbara Gordon.  
  
Robin downed another would-be attacker.  
  
Batman put three more henchman out of commission by pushing a large bookcase on top of them.  
  
Nightwing wiped out two more criminals by crashing their heads together.  
  
The Joker, who was dazed, looked incredlously at the Riddler, who was now flying over a table. The Joker shook his head and then he saw ... Barbara Gordon.  
  
The young woman looked somewhat familiar to him, but in his dazed condition he wasn't sure of anything. All he knew was she was a potential hostage. Quickly, he grabbed her and put an arm around her neck from behind. He took out his gun and pointed it at her head. He then yelled, "BATMAN! Cease fighting or this young lady DIES!"  
  
Everyone in the room stopped and turned to look at the Joker and his hostage.  
  
Harley Quinn ran over and faced Robin. Sounding like a child taunting a playmate, she told him, "You and yer pointy-eared partner think yer so smart! But you forgot I got a partner all my own!"  
  
"JOKER! If you harm a hair on that girl's head, I'll make sure you don't leave here alive! Let her go! She's just an innocent bystander!" yelled Nightwing.  
  
From behind the Caped Crusaders, three henchmen picked up wooden chairs and slammed them into the backs of Batman, Robin and Nightwing, knocking them unconscious.  
  
***  
  
The criminals managed to drag the unconscious trio outside to the construction area behind the library. Harley Quinn was elected Barbara Gordon's wheelchair pusher and brought her outside as well to witness the scene.  
  
After spinning Barbara around in several directions, Harley asked the young woman, "Wheee! Ya wanna do another wheelie, Red?!"  
  
"NO!" she replied icily.  
  
A powerful hoist was used to swing out a thirty-foot section of a very large pipe. The pipe was to be used to transfer water into the new water tower.  
  
The Joker ordered, "Now ... cap one end of the pipe and drop it into the water." He laughed. "Make sure the closed end rests on the bottom.  
  
Swiftly the henchmen, who must have had some experience in construction work, completed their task. They used three ropes to guy off the pipe to help it remain in an upright position.  
  
Riddler said, "Good! Ready to dump the bats inside?"  
  
Using a mechanical platform, the criminals lifted the unconscious forms of Batman, Robin and Nightwing into the top of the tube.  
  
"That's right," Joker laughed. "Feet first ... down he goes. Now, Boy Blunder."  
  
A minute later, one of the henchmen yelled, "Finished, Joker! All three bats in the tube."  
  
Jarred back into consciousness by their precipitous drop, Batman, Robin and Nightwing assessed their grim situation.  
  
"Water lapping outside ... sky above ... we're on the river bottom," Nightwing said.  
  
Batman observed, "We're about 28 to 30 feet from the top of this pipe we're in ..." He reached to his utility belt for his grapnel. "It's gone, my grapnel is ..."  
  
"So is MINE!" Nightwing said.  
  
Robin confirmed that his was missing too.  
  
"Oh, Caped Crusaders?!" Harley Quinn yelled down in a sing-song voice. "Are you looking for these?" She held one of the grapnels out so they could see it from the bottom of the pipe.  
  
"We're locked in -- like speciman's at the bottom of a test tube!" Robin said.  
  
A loud laugh came from above. "Yes, you are, bird brain. And in a few minutes, we're going to sink this pipe even further into the river bottom and the three of you ..." He chuckled. "... will ..." He laughed. "... drown," he laughed hysterically. So did Harley and the Riddler.  
  
The Joker continued taunting the Caped Crusaders. "Even if you do get out of there Bat-Breath, we'll be long gone." He laughed again.  
  
Then it was the Riddler's turn to taunt. "But before we go," he shouted down the pipe, "I have a little riddle for you to ponder while you're sitting down there."  
  
The Joker grabbed the Riddler's arm and swung him around to face him. "NO, Riddler! Why do you have to leave a riddle?"  
  
Riddler spoke in a quick voice, "Oh, I must, I must. Outwitting Batman is my sole delight, my joy, my heaven on Earth ... my very paaaradise." He giggled.  
  
The Joker cocked his head, smiled and laughed along with the Riddler.  
  
The Riddler continued, "Here it is, Batman. In four days, it was great day because it was "V" Day."  
  
Robin shouted up, "Yeah! And what's the riddle?"  
  
"That's it!" came Riddler's answer. He giggled like a hyhena.  
  
One of the Joker's henchmen who was waiting below the mechanical platform asked, "Hey, Joker! What do you want me to do with this girl in the wheelchair?"  
  
"I don't care," Joker replied. "Throw her into the river."  
  
Barbara Gordon screamed, "WHAT?!!"  
  
From the bottom of the pipe, "WHAT'S GOING ON OUT THERE?!!" Nightwing yelled. "BARBARA?!!"  
  
Robin said, "We've got to get out of here. Who knows what those maniacs are doing up there."  
  
Once again, Batman's matchless capacity to deal with disaster came to the rescue. "Well, I still have my utility belt. And where there's a drill, there's a way!" he said.  
  
Batman brought out a hand drill and began drilling holes into the pipe.  
  
Robin exclaimed, "Batman!? We'll drown!"  
  
"No, we won't," answered the Caped Crusader. "The human body can float. If the water comes into the pipe from up above, we'll never have a chance. But if we can allow water to enter the pipe at a controlled rate from below, we can float our way up to the top."  
  
Within moments, river water poured into the pipe from the holes Batman had drilled.  
  
Robin said, "Batman! It's working! At this rate it'll only be a few minutes until we float to the top."  
  
A few minutes later, the three heroes reached the top of the pipe. They dropped into the river and swam the short distance to the riverbank. A soaking wet Barbara Gordon was waiting for them along with several Gotham City police officers.  
  
Nightwing ran to Barbara. "Miss Gordon, are you alright? They didn't harm you did they?"  
  
"No, I'm fine. Thank you, Nightwing," she answered. She turned to Batman and asked, "Batman? Did you hear that last riddle by the Riddler? Do you know the answer?"  
  
The Masked Manhunter replied, "Not yet, Miss Gordon. Do you know what it was that the Joker and the Riddler were after?"  
  
"One of the librarians said it was a book entitled The Secret Subterranean Architecture Of Gotham City."  
  
Robin asked, "A book on underground architecture? What could those two possibly want with that, Batman?"  
  
"I don't know, Robin, but we'll find out," answered the Dark Knight. He turned back to Barbara and gave a little salute with two fingers. "Thank you for the information, Miss Gordon. We're sorry if you were placed into any danger."  
  
"It wasn't your fault, Batman," she replied.  
  
Nightwing said in a concerned tone, "Please, Miss Gordon, get into some dry clothes as soon as you can."  
  
"I will, Nightwing. Thank you."  
  
"To the Batcave!" said Batman  
  
"Goodbye, Miss Gordon," Nightwing said looking into her eyes.  
  
"Goodbye, Nightwing," she said, looking right back.  
  
To be continued ... 


	5. Solving A Riddle

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 5 - SOLVING A RIDDLE  
  
Though most people knew Gotham City as the crime capital of America, the city was also indisputably the diamond center of the United States. Gotham polishing factories produced large stones, fancy cut, pear shape, marquises, oval, emerald cut, triangle, and others. Most of the rough and polished diamonds that were imported into the United States passed through Gotham's Diamond District. The Gotham Diamond Bourse Building was the most important trading building in America.  
  
The Diamond District was smaller than most people thought. It really spanned only four large blocks that were situated near Gotham's main railway station. There were no less than 2,500 seperate companies connected in one way or another with diamonds in the district.  
  
Workshops, buying and selling offices, banking and insurance companies employed thousands of people. More than seventy percent of the imported diamonds to enter the U.S. were traded in a highly secretive and secure environment in the district.  
  
The unique infrastructure of the diamond district, which comprised of four seperate exhanges, meant that the choice was huge to potential buyers. Roughly twelve billion dollars worth of diamonds passed through Gotham on a yearly rate. More than eighty-five percent of the rough diamonds, fifty percent of the cut diamonds, and forty percent of industrial diamonds to enter the U.S. were traded in Gotham City.  
  
Upon entering one of the companies in the diamond district, rough stones would be sorted for size, color and shape and then they would begin the long process of cutting and polishing. Large and small factories produced the finished diamonds.  
  
If one were to visit a diamond company office in Gotham City, a broker would ask what sizes a buyer would like to begin with. The broker would then open his small case with hundreds of packets or parcels of diamonds. Each may contain fifty or hundreds of carats of diamonds. The buyer would begin to check the grades by using a loupe and tweezers. If the cutting quality, color or clarity was substandard, the parcel would be usually rejected.  
  
While going through an interesting parcel, a buyer might decide which diamonds make or break grade. Sometimes it might take a buyer a few days and looking at thousands and thousands of carats to fill a shopping list.  
  
When the buyer and seller agree after negotiating a price for the deal, they shook hands -- a diamond industry tradition. The diamonds are weighed and prepared through the Gotham Diamond Bank. Once the diamonds arrived at a retail shop, they were usually set into various pieces in a design studio.  
  
***  
  
At the loft above the Benbow Tavern, the criminals were plotting their crime.  
  
"You know Mr. Joker," the Penguin said, "if we pull this caper off, it will be called the most spectacular diamond robbery in the history of the world. I estimate we might be able to steal more than $100 million in diamonds."  
  
The Joker laughed with delight. "It will be the heist of the century, my dear Pengy!"  
  
The Riddler was studying their recently acquired book -- "The Secret Subterranean Architecture Of Gotham City" -- intently. Ever since they took the book from the Gotham library, he had hardly put it down.  
  
"I'm not so sure about this avenue of entry, my fine, fellow cohorts," the Riddler said. "From what I understand, the Gotham Diamond Bourse Building is constantly monitored by police and dozens of cameras. Special passes are required to gain access to the building and guards protect our targeted room with the vaults twenty-four hours a day."  
  
"It does sound like a tough cookie to crack," admitted the Penguin. "We need a plan that is a piece of genius in its simplicity. I wish we could get Catwoman to analyze the security system."  
  
"Bah!" spat out the Joker. "You know that you can never trust a cat, Pengy."  
  
"Yes, but you must admit she is the best, Mr Joker," Riddler added.  
  
The Joker turned away from the table to think. He then turned back to face his two nefarious colleagues. "Do you think our initial plan will work, Riddler?"  
  
Without taking his eyes off a set of blueprints, the Riddler contemplated the question. "I'm not sure I like it as much as I once did, Mr Joker. Entering from the sewer system and then passing through this maze of secret entrances -- that may or may not be there after all these years -- seems to be too much work. Too much work adds up to more chances of something going wrong. Batman is on to us now, as you well know."  
  
The Joker laughed again. "Yes, those Caped Cabbageheads are always in our way it seems. Riddler, aren't you supposed to have a plan to try to get rid of them?"  
  
"Yes! That takes place tonight! For once and for all we will finally rid ourselves of their constant interference if they can solve the clue," he said ending with a giggle.  
  
"How many times have we heard that before?" the Penguin growled.  
  
The Riddler took offense at the statement and jumped in front of the Penguin to confront his intended insult.  
  
"Listen you, blubbering sack of fish sticks, I'll get ..."  
  
The Joker stepped in between the two. "Friends! Remember what I said earlier? Why should we fight each other? We're stronger if we work together!"  
  
He looked his two companions in the eyes. "Here, lets all shake on it, shall we?"  
  
The Joker stuck out his left hand. The Penguin placed his hand on top of the Joker's. Then after taking just a short moment to decide, the Riddler placed his hand on top of the Penguin's in a symbolic gesture of unity. The Joker then placed his right hand on the very top and suddenly the group felt a jolt of electricty going through their bodies.  
  
The Riddler and the Penguin screamed in pain from the shock.  
  
The Joker laughed hysterically as he showed that the palm of his hand contained a joy buzzer. "Oh, thank heavens for my delicious sense of humor!"  
  
***  
  
Barbara Gordon was Oracle, the premier information broker, hacker and on- line detective for Gotham's crimefighting community. Barbara had been Batgirl for a long time. One day, the Joker came knocking on her door and shattered her spine with a gunshot.  
  
The Joker's bullet would forever define Barbara. Paralyzed from the waist down, the once high-flying Batgirl refused to let a wheelchair confine her. Gifted with eidetic memory -- almost total recall of everything she had ever read or seen -- Barbara was once the administrator of the Gotham City Public Library.  
  
The building known as The Clocktower was Oracle's base of operations. Her workstation was comprised of six Yale super-computers sequenced through a fifth-generation interface slaved to her voice-patterns. A sophisticated video-computer room was equipped with holographic heads-up displays that provided her with real-time simulations of any location in her database.  
  
At the moment, Barbara was still trying to crack the Riddler's last riddle. "In four days, it was a great day because it was 'V' Day," she said out loud to herself. "It makes no sense."  
  
She snickered. "Since when does the Riddler make sense?"  
  
Turning back to her computer workstation, Barbara stroked some keys to try a new avenue of approach to the riddle. The trouble was -- after nearly four days of working on the question, there really were no new avenues to employ to solve it.  
  
"It must mean that the answer has no logical meaning," she whispered to herself. "A computer can only deal with logic."  
  
Still hoping her computers could come up with a solution, she aimlessly reviewed some files she had downloaded. Most of the files were old World War Two video clips.  
  
"I know my history, dammit!" she murmurred. "But this just doesn't make any sense. The Riddler has such a twisted mind. This should have something to do with history."  
  
She stopped and stared into space, letting her mind wander -- trying to get into the Riddler's mind.  
  
Suddenly, as if a lightbulb went on in her head, Barbara's eyes widened and a slight smile crossed her lips. Nodding to herself, she punched a key on her keyboard.  
  
"Before I call Batman, I know someone else who might be interested in this," the former Batgirl said to herself. "This requires a certain expertise."  
  
***  
  
It was a hot Tuesday evening in Gotham City. During the day, the temperature had reached nintey-three degrees. But in the fabulous Batcave, it was a comfortable sixty-eight degrees. Batman, Robin, Nightwing and Alfred were brainstorming and throwing ideas at one another in an effort to figure out the Riddler's riddle of four days ago.  
  
On a blackboard, the riddle had been written in large letters: "In four days it was a great day because it was V day."  
  
"I'm beginning to think the Riddler has finally stumped us," Robin pointed out.  
  
Nightwing said, "Maybe it's not a riddle. Maybe we're thinking of the wrong 'V Day.' Perhaps he's not alluding to the famous World War II date."  
  
"It's the only historical 'V Day' that I can think of, Master Dick." Alfred said.  
  
Batman asked, "What is the meaning of 'V Day?'"  
  
"It's just a historical date," answered Robin.  
  
Batman said, "History? The only thing in Gotham City ... I've got it! At the Gotham Museum of History there is an exhibit of recently uncovered paintings that were thought to had been lost during the Nazi era. They were recently discovered in France. They're worth millions!"  
  
"And it's been four days since he told us that riddle!" added Nightwing.  
  
"Good show, sir! I agree!" Alfred congratulated Batman.  
  
Robin yelled, "Let's go! We may already be too late!"  
  
The heroes raced to the Batmobile and took off toward the Gotham Museum of History.  
  
To be continued ... 


	6. Riddler Strikes

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 6 - RIDDLER STRIKES  
  
Outside the Gotham Museum of History, a female figure quickly darted from one shadow to another toward the main entrance doors.  
  
The woman was dressed in skintight purple spandex with shoulder-length black hair protruding from under her cowl. She had long, black, leather boots and gloves.  
  
Before Catwoman could reach for the door handle to check if they were locked or not, she noticed a silent black automobile pulling up in front of the building. It was the Batmobile.  
  
Her already serious mood suddenly turned a little darker.  
  
Batman, Robin, and Nightwing quickly got out of the vehicle and ran up the stairs of the museum.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Batman asked Catwoman.  
  
"What am I doing here? What are YOU doing here?" she replied smartly.  
  
"I ask the questions around here," Batman sneered at her.  
  
"Oh, let me guess, you're now tall, dark, and broody in front of the prodigies, is that it, stud?"  
  
Nightwing interrupted, "Can we talk about this later?"  
  
"I'm not letting her go in there," Batman said. "She could get hurt."  
  
Catwoman snapped, "I can take care of myself, thank you!"  
  
"That's just the problem, isn't it?" Batman replied.  
  
Catwoman started to reach for her whip.  
  
"We're here to prevent a crime -- not to take a look at the exhibits," the Caped Crusader continued.  
  
Catwoman's anger was reaching its boiling point. She told Batman, "Look, babe, I told you last week that I could handle myself. I don't need some caped ..."  
  
Nightwing tried again, "We really should discuss this some other time ..."  
  
"Well, maybe she can stay out here and watch the Batmobile," Batman said to Nightwing not willing to look at Catwoman at the moment.  
  
Robin tried the doors -- they were conveniently open. He started to say, "Come on ..."  
  
"Watch the car?!" she screeched. Her voice went up another octave. "Who the hell do you think you are?! Yeah, sure, I'll watch your damn car and when you return, I guarantee you'll find nothing but a pile of shit out here, you ..."  
  
"Let's go!" insisted Nightwing.  
  
Batman resigned himself to the situation. He was not going to change Selina Kyle's mind. "All right. But Wing you take the rear. I don't want her watching my back."  
  
"I wouldn't want to watch your back, you ..."  
  
"Come on!" led Robin.  
  
***  
  
Inside the museum, the four costumed figures were looking around not so quietly.  
  
Batman whispered, "I came here to catch a deranged criminal, not to protect a woman."  
  
Catwoman whispered back to him, "Listen, you jackass, nobody asked you to protect me."  
  
"Shhhhh," came from Nightwing.  
  
The entire museum was dark. Suddenly, Robin observed, "Look Batman! Something is glowing at the end of the corridor!"  
  
The four of them jogged to the end of the corridor and found a sign.  
  
Batman said, "Hmmm, the glow is coming from the Hall of Weapons exhibit."  
  
"This has all the signs of a trap," Nightwing said.  
  
They entered the exhibit room very carefully. The room was pitch black. It was so dark they couldn't even see their hands in front of their eyes. When the four masked figures reached the center of the room, the chamber was suddenly flooded with bright light.  
  
A harsh but familiar voice rang in their ears. "Advice, old enemy! Stay exactly where you are! I didn't come here to rob. I came to catch you! I see I have a bonus catch ... Catwoman!" He giggled uncontrollably and then continued. "Observe the crossbows aimed at you! They have wires attached to the triggers ... And the wires are fixed to the platform you are standing on!"  
  
"EDDIE?! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Catwoman yelled.  
  
Nightwing looked around. Seven ancient, but fully armed crossbows were aimed at them. Some were aimed low. Most were aimed at about the level of their chests. If they were to go off, one of them, at the very least, would be hit. Batman, Nightwing, and Robin did wear some body armor. But Catwoman did not. There was no real way to avoid the aim of the crossbows.  
  
The Riddler shrugged at Catwoman's question and continued, "If any of you step off the platform, the bows will shoot! And if you don't, they'll shoot anyway, in five minutes! My masterpiece, you must admit! Sorry Selina, dear, I didn't ..."  
  
"EDDIE?!" she screamed again. "What the --"  
  
"But there is an escape?" Batman interrupted. "You always play fair -- sort of -- to give your victims a chance!"  
  
The Riddler giggled while circling around them. "Of course, Batman! There is always an answer to a riddle! Your salvation is tied to the lettered rings in front of you. All you have to do is figure out, what letter is like death?"  
  
Nightwing lunged at the Riddler. "Why you --" He grabbed a hold of the Riddler's belt. However, Nightwing didn't have a good enough grip on him and Riddler was able to easily wrench away from him.  
  
"Ah-ah! Don't waste time with me! You have only four minutes left to save yourselves! I must be moving on now! Ta-ta!" He started to giggle again.  
  
"EDDIE?! EDDIE?! COME BACK HERE OR --" Catwoman yelled to the criminal in green.  
  
"I knew it. I knew we would have trouble," Batman said. "Catwoman lay down on the platform. I'll cover your body with mine. At least one of us will get out of this alive."  
  
She replied, "Like hell you will! It'll be a cold day in hell before you get to lay on top of me again, you per ..."  
  
"Never mind," Nightwing said. "Nobody is going to die as long as we keep our wits about us."  
  
Batman looked at the six rings lettered A to F in front of him.  
  
Robin reminded, "Less than three minutes left ... I think I got it! E is like death. It comes at the end of life!"  
  
"You're right, old chum" replied Batman. "And if I know the Riddler's thinking, this 'C' handle should deactivate the bows' trigger mechanism ..." Batman reached for the "C" handle in front of them.  
  
Nightwing screamed, "NO! He said E, not C!" He grabbed Catwoman, threw her down and jumped on top of her.  
  
Catwoman screamed in anger.  
  
Batman yanked the 'C' handle. Immediately the deadly mini-arsenal changed aim from the Caped Crusaders and Catwoman toward the ceiling.  
  
"As I figured. The Riddler fixed it so any ring would save us ... except the one marked E!" Batman said.  
  
Robin added, "And if you had pulled the ring that answered the riddle, we'd been killed! He was being extra tricky this time!"  
  
Nightwing raised himself off of Catwoman. He offered his hand to help her up. "I'm sorry, Catwoman. I just didn't want to see you hurt."  
  
She looked at the three males, fuming, and scolded. "What's with you guys?! Since when have I suddenly become the fragile female that needs protection?" She looked at Nightwing. "If one of those arrows had hit you, you wouldn't be able to see anyone hurt."  
  
Nightwing snapped back, "Look lady, I thought I was saving your life!"  
  
"Enough!" Batman interrupted.  
  
Catwoman turned her anger on the Dark Knight. "You see what you've done now? You've got them wanting to protect me, too!"  
  
Robin was starting to get disgusted with all the bickering. In order to change the subject, he asked, "What do we do now, Batman?"  
  
"We should check around ..."  
  
Nightwing interrupted him, "Why don't we go after the Riddler?"  
  
"Because we don't know which way he went or where he is going," Catwoman answered.  
  
"Sure we do!" Nightwing replied.  
  
Robin said, "Now, you're talking in riddles, Wing!"  
  
Nightwing explained, "Do you remember when I grabbed his belt? I planted a Bat-homing transmitter on him."  
  
"You did?!" Catwoman exclaimed. "When I get my hands on Eddie, I'll ..."  
  
Batman yelled, "To the Batmobile!"  
  
The heroes and Catwoman ran out of the museum. Catwoman started to run away from the three crimefighters when Batman called out to her, "Wait! Catwoman! Come on, it'd be better if you ride with us!"  
  
"NO! I'd rather ..."  
  
"Look, I apologize, okay?" Batman said to her.  
  
Catwoman thought for a moment. It wasn't exactly a heartfelt apology but she figured that was the best she was going to get from him at the moment in front of the prodigies. She admitted to herself that it would be easier to get even with the Riddler if she went with the three of them.  
  
"All right," Catwoman said as she ran toward the Batmobile. Nightwing opened the backdoor for her.  
  
"I'd rather sit in the front," she said.  
  
Nightwing replied, "Get in the back. Robin sits in the front. Trust me, you'll like it better back here."  
  
She raised an eyebrow and decided there was no time to argue. She got into the car that reminded her of a shortened sleek, black limousine. Batman leaped into the driver's seat as Catwoman made herself comfortable in the back. The back seat was made of cushioned black leather upholstery.  
  
"Is this what Ricardo Montalban calls rich Corithian leather?" she asked while sliding her hand back and forth across the seat.  
  
"There is no such thing as Corithian leather. Montalban made that up for the commercial," Batman lectured.  
  
She cursed under her breath, "Anal retentive ..." Catwoman stopped when she noticed Nightwing looking at her.  
  
Batman manuvered the super-powered automobile through the museum's parking lot onto Remfield Avenue. The Batmobile in low gear, proceeded down the city street.  
  
"Wing?" Batman called out.  
  
"What?"  
  
Batman started issuing out orders, "Activate the Bat-Scanner generator."  
  
Leaning foward to the command console behind the front seat, Nightwing touched a button. Catwoman heard a low, thrumming, machinelike whine. She then watched as Nightwing slid open a panel in front of her and then turned a yellow knob clockwise.  
  
After he did that, two trapdoors on the trunk of the Batmobile opened for the Bat-Scanner on its launching pad. Nightwing then pressed a red button and the Bat-Scanner soared into the night sky with the impact of a missile.  
  
Catwoman watched as Nightwing turned on a closed-circuit television screen in front of her which provided a long shot view of a large portion of Gotham City from the infrared television camera that required neither light nor lights and was sealed into the nose of the Bat-Scanner.  
  
Nightwing explained to her, "These two knobs in the middle are for the camera shots. Close-ups, long shots, and so on ... These let you turn the Bat-Scanner where you want it."  
  
Being very adept with electronic equipment, Catwoman caught on fairly quickly once Nightwing let her handle the controls.  
  
"But we're not really interested in the camera function right now," he explained to her. "Press the green button."  
  
When Catwoman did as he suggested, a green alphanumeric display appeared in the lower right hand corner of the television screen.  
  
The display read: W 4.27  
  
"What's that mean?" she asked.  
  
Nightwing answered, "That means the transmitter I placed on the riddler is a little over four and a quarter miles west of our location. Nightwing then told Batman so that he would start heading in the proper direction.  
  
As the Batmobile continued speeding after the Riddler, Catwoman starting fuming again to herself about the Bat-clan trying to overprotect her. She didn't know where Batman got the idea that she couldn't handle herself. It wasn't all that long ago that the two of them would have knockdown brawls on a rooftop somewhere and she had managed to hold her own against the Caped Crusader. How many times had she sunk her claws into him?  
  
Catwoman's train of thought was broken when Nightwing called out, "We're gaining! They're about a mile and a half ahead of us."  
  
Looking at the screen, she called out, "Wing!" She pointed. "On the screen! I can see a green van driving wildly ahead of us. Do you think it's the Riddler?"  
  
"Who else would be driving a green van erratically?" Nightwing asked.  
  
Batman pushed a button on his console and the blazing headlights dimmed and a polarized beam was switched on. The windows of the Batmobile were treated with a special chemical. When the polarized beam was activated, everything outside lit up like it was daytime, except with an eerie effect -- everything had a green tint.  
  
At the same time anyone seeing the vehicle racing by would only see a car driving with no headlights.  
  
Ghostlike, wraithlike, silent, unseen, blackness merging with the blackness of the night, the Batmobile whizzing like a silent, rocket-propelled projectile moved toward its destination, now less than a mile ahead.  
  
Nightwing called from the back, "We're almost on them."  
  
"Roger," replied Batman.  
  
Nightwing turned to Catwoman and pointed to another button on the rear console. "Press the blue button," he told her, "to send the Bat-Scanner back."  
  
She pressed the button and within fifteen seconds the Bat-Scanner was back home within the confines of the trunk of the Batmobile. The whinning ceased and the trapdoors closed.  
  
Nightwing pointed toward the front windshield. "There they are! Dead ahead!"  
  
"Do they see us?" she asked.  
  
"Not a chance," Nightwing replied.  
  
They were in pursuit of a green van in a desolate industrial section of the city.  
  
Batman pushed a button to activate the front rocket launchers. Two small doors, just below the Batmobile's headlights, retracted from the apertures behind which were the batteries of rockets.  
  
Nightwing, from the rear, pushed another button to check on the signal strength of the Bat-homing-transmitter he had planted on the Riddler. An orange light lit up the target screen and loud feedback sound was heard. Satisfied that he had the right vehicle, he said, "Catwoman, we're now going to make the Riddler jump."  
  
"How?" she asked.  
  
"With the Bat-rockets." He pointed to a switch. "Turn this switch all the way to the left."  
  
She twisted the knob until she felt a click. Hairline gunsights glowed on the screen in front of her now. Through the gunsights, she could clearly see the van they were pursuing.  
  
"The little box with buttons on it in the righthand corner, they control the rockets," explained Nightwing.  
  
Catwoman was getting a certain thrill out of all the high-technological gadgetry and weapons.  
  
"I understand," she replied.  
  
Catwoman took hold of the remote control aiming and firing device. She studied the gunsight, adjusting the Bat-rockets directional device. She was aiming at the lower rear portion of the green van. When she was ready and with the distance between the two vehicles correct, she fired.  
  
The Bat-rocket exploded in a crimson and purple blast six feet behind the green van.  
  
In that van, the occupants quickly turned their heads to the rear.  
  
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" the Riddler screamed.  
  
Batman turned on the Batmobile's white headlights.  
  
"Holy crow, Riddler!" one of his henchmen yelled. "Somebody is right behind us!"  
  
The Riddler replied in a slow voice, "I can't see through those headlights! They're blinding me! It has to be Batman!"  
  
Back in the Batmobile, Batman said, "Not bad for the first time, Catwoman. But those rockets are expensive."  
  
"I think you can afford it," she kidded, trying to hold back the excitement in her voice.  
  
The rear cargo doors of the van swung open. Batman saw the barrel of what looked to be a .50-caliber machine gun pointing out the open doors. The machine gun let loose a spray of bullets that bounced like hail off the Batmobile.  
  
Batman was not worried. Bullets could not harm the rolling arsenal because the Batmobile was absolutely invulnerable to bullets. Its body, its glass, its entire construction was bulletproof, shatterproof, bombproof, even dentproof. And if a bullet happened to strike a tire, no matter. The special rubber of the tires would immediately seal in the pellet. Within the outer sheath of the rubber was a mesh of woven strands of steel that would prevent the penetration of a bullet to the inner tube.  
  
Inside the Batmobile, Robin remarked to the Caped Crusader quietly, "I hope Catwoman doesn't blow the Riddler away!"  
  
Seeing that the machine gun was doing no good, the Riddler told the henchman who was driving the van, "Step on it!"  
  
The green van accelerated to eighty miles per hour. The Batmobile was right behind it. The van fishtailed into a left turn. Batman almost overshot the street. He turned the steering wheel hard to the left. The Batmobile fishtailed first right, then left, as the Masked Manhunter fought control of the wheel.  
  
"Somebody is going to get killed if we keep this up!" Nightwing said.  
  
Catwoman was actually enjoying herself. It had been a long time since she had had so much fun.  
  
The two racing vehicles were now leaving the Gotham City limits at a hundred miles per hour.  
  
"Catwoman," Batman called out, "try the Bat-rockets again."  
  
"Right," she replied.  
  
Catwoman took aim again. This time she aimed a little higher on the fleeing van. Her finger was poised over the firing button. When she felt she had a good shot, she pressed the button.  
  
The rocket hit the rear of the van. The van screeched, swerved, veered into a ditch at the side of the road.  
  
The Batmobile screamed to a halt.  
  
The Riddler and his three cohorts slowly exited the van from the now obliterated rear cargo doors.  
  
Nightwing yelled, "You're through, Riddler!"  
  
With a hand on his head, the dizzy Riddler said to his henchmen, "Get them!"  
  
The Riddler's henchmen were also feeling the effects of the rocket blast and the ensuing crash of the van.  
  
Nightwing moved with the speed of a panther. He took the right arm of the closest attacking thug, swung him around, like they were in a square dance, and flung him into the other two would-be attackers.  
  
Catwoman went straight for the Riddler's throat. She took the Riddler's right arm and flipped him with a basic judo move. Catwoman then pounced on top of the criminal and began to pummel him with her fists.  
  
With each blow that rained down on the Riddler, she yelled, "You ... Son .. Of ... A .. Bit--"  
  
Batman had grabbed the incensed Catwoman by the waist and pulled her off the Riddler before she could pound him into the ground.  
  
Hearing several police cars approaching with lights and sirens, Batman carried Catwoman back to the Batmobile -- her arms still swinging in the direction of the Riddler -- and practically threw her into the rear passenger compartment of the Batmobile.  
  
"Stay out of sight!" he ordered as he slammed the rear door shut.  
  
The first patrol car arrived on the scene. With the dark-tinted windows of the Batmobile, it was highly unlikely any of the police officers would be able to spot Catwoman inside the magnficent automobile.  
  
The Riddler and his men were placed in handcuffs and taken away, in police custody, to Gotham City Police Headquarters.  
  
***  
  
The drive back to the Batcave, for the most part, was a quiet one. Nightwing and Robin had said a few words to one another but Batman and Catwoman had remained silent.  
  
When the costumed heroes arrived at their crimefighting headquarters, Catwoman exited the vehicle and immediately climbed the stairs back up to Wayne Manor without saying a word or even glancing at the members of the Bat-Clan who had to undress in their costume vaults.  
  
Bruce Wayne emerged from behind the grandfather clock and entered his private study. Alfred, as always, was there to greet him.  
  
"Is she still here?" was all Bruce asked.  
  
"Miss Kyle ran upstairs, sir. She did not seem to be her usual cordial self."  
  
Bruce walked briskly to the stairs of his mansion and climbed them to the second floor toward his bedroom. He found the purple Catwoman costume, cowl, and her black boots and gloves on his bed. The door to the master bath was half closed and he could hear the shower running.  
  
A certain idea crossed his mind, but he decided it would be best to wait until she was finished with her shower. In about five minutes, Selina Kyle emerged from the master bath in a very short white terry-cloth robe. She was drying her long, dark hair with a towel.  
  
Bruce tried to be pleasant toward her. "That was a pretty good judo move you put on the Riddler."  
  
"I told you I could take care of myself."  
  
He smiled, "Yes, but come on, he's five-feet, eight and weighs maybe a hundred and fifty pounds. Plus he was disorientated from the crash."  
  
"What do I have to do to prove myself to you?"  
  
"Selina, you don't have to prove yourself to me."  
  
"Look, Bruce, can we drop it? I'm tired of being angry with you."  
  
"I just don't want to see you hurt," he replied.  
  
"You don't want to see my hurt?!" she exclaimed. "But at the same time you laugh in the face of danger! You attack six men at a time, drive that car of yours like a maniac, blow up automobiles. While at the same time you're willing to protect anybody's body with your own. It's like you have a death wish! I've got some news for you, Bruce, you're not indestructible! Sometimes, I swear, I can't figure you out!"  
  
"You can't figure me out?!" he replied. "I can never figure you out! I don't understand how --" He noticed that her robe had come loose around her breasts. His eyes locked on her cleavage. -- a beautiful ... I mean ... one minute you're a jewel thief and the next you're helping us with this lunacy we call crimefighting."  
  
He couldn't take his eyes off her chest. It had been a while since he had been with her. "I mean ..."  
  
She noticed where Bruce's eyes were fixated. Most women would had tried to cover themselves up but Selina Kyle was no ordinary woman and her lover was no ordinary man.  
  
She said to him as she walked closer, "Somebody has to do it."  
  
Bruce was totally confused now. The logical thoughts in his mind had been derailed by this magnificent creature that was standing before him. "Do what?" he asked.  
  
Stepping in front of him, she said in a husky whisper, "Do this." Selina kissed him deeply.  
  
As if by instinct, he kissed her back and his hands pulled her closer to him. Their bodies melted into one another. Selina's arms went around his neck.  
  
His hands had tugged at the belt of the robe and she shrugged her shoulders. The robe fell away and she was naked. He stared at her incredible body. "I thought I'd give you a second chance, Bruce."  
  
Folding his arms around her waist and drawing her close against him again, Bruce felt her nipples hardening against him. His hand found her breast, kneading it, and his mouth crushed her slightly parted lips.  
  
He moved her closer to him, feeling her hands as she touched his back, his chest, and elsewhere.  
  
They were next to the bed and he leaned her onto it.  
  
Selina watched as he undressed for her. She could plainly see how excited he was to be with her. Bruce slid into the bed beside her. Bruce's arm curled around her, his fingers entwined in her hair, gently pulling her head back.  
  
She was smiling and he kissed the smile. Her hands moved over his chest, then along his back as he slipped between her thighs, the heat there burning into him. He could feel her hands against his rear end, and he kissed her lips, her neck, her throat, her chest, and her breasts.  
  
Catching her breath, she finally spoke to him, "I love you -- forever."  
  
Sometime later, Selina had Bruce's head curled under her chin and said, "You know, to a certain extent, I enjoyed this evening."  
  
"That's it! You do this for fun! Why else would you do it?"  
  
"And you don't?!" she snapped at him.  
  
"No, I don't. A criminal murdered my parents. I made a vow to their memory."  
  
Suddenly remembering his past, she felt bad about what she said. "I'm sorry," Selina said quietly.  
  
Bruce only replied by hugging her close. Selina stroked his head until he fell asleep.  
  
To be continued ... 


	7. Penguin Strikes

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 7 - PENGUIN STRIKES  
  
It was a Wednesday afternoon at the Gotham City Main Public Library. Dick Grayson and Tim Drake were checking out some books. In line, in front of them, a seven-year-old boy was trying to find his library card. The young boy had been sure the card was somewhere in his pocket. "At least it was ..." he tried to explain.  
  
Barbara Gordon emerged from one of the small research rooms that were located off to the side of the main desk. She wheeled herself over to Dick and Tim after she spotted them.  
  
Dick's eyes widened when he saw her.  
  
"Babs! What are you doing here?" he asked.  
  
She smiled at him. "Oh, just doing some more work on my Gotham historical research project. I try to have a life beside my other duties."  
  
Dick knew what those other duties were. Her assistance as Oracle to Gotham's crimefighters was indispensible.  
  
Barbara asked, "What are you two doing here today?"  
  
"Just checking out some books," Tim answered.  
  
"But since this young man can't find his library card," Dick pointed to the seven-year-old who was still looking through his pockets, "we'll have to wait to check out."  
  
Barbara looked at the books Dick and Tim were checking out. "101 Ways To Make Explosives And Demolitions? The Escape Techniques Of Houdini? The Criminal Mind Simplified? You two have an unusual taste in literature."  
  
"Uh, we're going to make ... uh ... right, Tim?"  
  
"Huh? -- Oh! Right! Sure, Dick!" Tim looked at Dick through crossed eyes.  
  
Dick added, "We can't read philosophy everyday."  
  
Barbara rolled her eyes at him.  
  
The librarian finally checked out their books and the trio started to leave the building.  
  
Dick threw his car keys at Tim Drake. "Tim, go get the car. I'll be there in a minute."  
  
"But the car is right ... Oh, Okay, bro," the young man replied. "See ya later, Babs!"  
  
Barbara smiled at him. "Bye, Tim," she said. The police commissioner's daughter then looked up to Dick. "Why'd you send him away?"  
  
"So I could be alone with my favorite girl," he answered honestly.  
  
She sighed and smiled again shyly.  
  
"Are you busy tonight?" he asked her.  
  
"Dick," she sighed once more. "I'm busy every night, you know that."  
  
"But I have an extra ticket to the play Chrous Line. I was hoping you would go with me? I know its short notice, but Bruce gave me these tickets."  
  
She thought about it for a moment. "I don't think so, Dick. The Joker and Harley are still on the loose. I'm sure Bruce would ..."  
  
He resorted to pleading. "Barbara, please? If you don't go, I have to take him." Dick pointed to Tim Drake sitting in the passenger seat of his car. "Do you know what it's like to take him to a play? And the looks we'll get?"  
  
Barbara giggled. "But you're such good friends --"  
  
"Barbara!"  
  
She was snickering now. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."  
  
"I promise you'll have a wonderful time. Please say you'll go with me. It'll just be for a few hours. Bruce can get along without us for a few hours."  
  
"Well ..." She thought about the invitation again and then decided. "Okay. Can you pick me up at six-thirty?"  
  
With a big smile on his face, he replied, "Thank you! You don't know what this means! I'll see you in a few hours. Bye!"  
  
Dick bounced to his car, got in, started it up and drove off while waving to Barbara.  
  
As they were headed back to Wayne Manor, Tim asked, "What was all that about?"  
  
"Never mind. I have a problem," Dick said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I've got to find two tickets for Chrous Line."  
  
***  
  
It was twenty-eight minutes after six when Dick Grayson pulled up in front of the building known as The Clocktower. Barbara Gordon was waiting for him at the front entrance.  
  
He got out of the van, went around and opened the glass door for her. After she wheeled herself outside, Dick leaned over and kissed her sweetly on the cheek. Barbara smiled.  
  
"Have you always had a crush on me, Dick Grayson?"  
  
"Ever since the day I met you," he replied quickly.  
  
Dick easily lifted Barbara into the front passenger seat of the van and stored her wheelchair behind them.  
  
The two long-time friends made small-talk on the way to the theater.  
  
"It's been so long since I've done this, Dick."  
  
"Why don't we do it more often?"  
  
Because we both have a certain nighttime hobby maybe?" she replied.  
  
"I could make time for you," he answered.  
  
She decided to change the subject. "Where'd you get this van? Former wards of billionaires usually drive something more flashy, I thought."  
  
"It belongs to Bruce. I saw it in the garage so I decided to borrow it tonight."  
  
"I hear he owns a lot of cars."  
  
"He has a fleet -- which he never uses. Look at the odometer on this van! A whole eighty-five miles on it."  
  
When they arrived at the theater, they went inside and enjoyed the play Fiddler On The Roof.  
  
A few hours later, in a downtown Gotham City restaurant, Barbara asked her date, "Dick? I didn't mention this before, but when you asked me out earlier today you said you had tickets to the play Chrous Line."  
  
He decided to be honest with her. "To tell you the truth, I had no tickets for any play until about five o'clock. It's just when I saw you today, I wanted to be with you. But I promise you, give me a few days and I'll get tickets for Chrous Line."  
  
"No," she smiled, "that's okay. I guess I should be flattered that you went to all that trouble for me."  
  
Dick looked to his watch. "It's still early."  
  
"Yes, for people who are up most of the night, it's still early. It's really a very nice night. Why don't we take a little walk in the park across the street?"  
  
After paying the bill, Barbara and Dick moved across the street for a short stroll in Robinson Park. Unbeknownst to them, several eyes were watching their movements with a great interest.  
  
***  
  
Barbara and Dick talked as they moved through the busy portion of the park. It was warm, clear, and the stars shined above them.  
  
"You should see the latest Gotham historical project I've been working on," the very enthused Barbara said.  
  
"Why? What's so special about it?" he asked her.  
  
She tried to explain, "Most scholars have seen Gotham history as the gradual unfolding of a divine plan, with the people acting out their assigned parts. Some have felt that the way to understand a historical period of Gotham was not to study the biographies of its great founders and leaders, but to investigate its methods of commerce and distribution. We have this wonderful port, here. Most modern hist ..." She looked into his face and saw that he was totally confused. She slapped her hands on her thighs. "You know what? Why don't I show you? It'd be easier --"  
  
"Show me what?"  
  
"At the Gotham Historical Society we have ..."  
  
"But, Barbara, its closed now."  
  
A sly smile played across her lips. "I have a key."  
  
***  
  
About an hour later, Barbara was showing Dick some old historical papers that pertained to the beginning of Gotham as a city in the early portion of the 19th century. She caught him, instead, looking at her.  
  
"You're not interested in this, are you?" she asked.  
  
"I'm more interested in you," he replied.  
  
She sighed. "Dick Grayson, what am I going to do with you?"  
  
"You could start feeling for me like I feel for you," he answered quickly.  
  
Barbara was a bit surprised by what he said. She knew that she had for a long time fought her feelings for Dick. In a flustered tone she said, "I -- I -- we just don't have the time, Dick. A relationship requires a lot of time and attention ..." She smiled at him and closed the book that they had been looking at. "We better be going. It really is getting late."  
  
Dick kneeled down in front of her so that their faces were on the same level. He said to her softly, "You are so bright and beautiful. I know we were meant to be together, Barbara. We could --"  
  
"Are you trying to make me blush, Dick?"  
  
"You are blushing," he teased.  
  
Barbara leaned over and kissed him. "You're a wonderful man, Dick Grayson."  
  
"You ready to go?" he asked.  
  
"Yes. Just let me put this --"  
  
Suddenly, the door to the room burst open. Dick reflexively grabbed Barbara and rolled them to the floor.  
  
"Squack, quack, squack. Ah-ha! This is a kidnapping!"  
  
"Penguin?!" Barbara yelled.  
  
The Penguin waddled into the room, his ever-present umbrella at the ready. "I see that you remember me, Miss Gordon. Come along, we're taking you with us."  
  
Dick Grayson played ignorant. "Barbara? Who is this guy?!"  
  
"He's the master-criminal Penguin!" she answered.  
  
"Ah, very good, Miss Gordon, I should have you handle all my introductions," the Black Bird of Prey said.  
  
Two of the Penguin's henchmen, who were dressed in black, grabbed Barbara by the arms and lifted her back into her wheelchair.  
  
Dick yelled, "WAIT! DON'T! TAKE ME! I would be worth more to you! My name is Dick Gra -- UH!"  
  
The Penguin's third G.O.O.N had gone unseen behind Dick and knocked him unconscious with a blow to the back of the head with a sap.  
  
"DICK?!!" Barbara Gordon screamed as she was rolled out.  
  
"Come along, Miss Gordon," the Penguin said as he waddled ahead, "we have some surprises in store for you. Squack, quack, squack."  
  
To be continued ... 


	8. The Exchange

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 8 - THE EXCHANGE  
  
Twenty minutes passed after Dick Grayson had been knocked unconscious. Dick lay prone, face down on the blue rug of a room at the Gotham Historical Society. He moaned and then lifted himself from the floor. He rubbed his eyes, trying to make them see straight. He caught sight of his watch. It read two-thirty.  
  
"Oh, God," he said aloud. It took a great deal of his strength to get to his feet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellular phone. He punched a speed dial button.  
  
A few moments later, Dick managed to mumble, "Al-Alfred? -- Yeah, it's me, Dick. Quick, let me talk to Bruce."  
  
Dick waited for almost two minutes. Finally, Bruce Wayne answered the phone. "Dick? Where are you? What's wrong?"  
  
"Bruce?! Bruce ... Barbara Gordon has been kidnapped! They knocked me in the head. I can hardly see straight."  
  
Bruce Wayne was flabbergasted. First, upon hearing that Barbara Gordon had been abducted, and second, that someone had been able to get close enough to his former ward, the martial arts expert, to knock him unconscious. "Where are you, Dick?"  
  
"The Gotham Historical Society."  
  
"Do you know who kidnapped Barbara?"  
  
"Yes!" Dick growled. "The Penguin! And if he harms ..."  
  
Bruce interrupted Dick's threat. "Listen, Dick! Alfred and I will be right over there. I'll call Commissioner Gordon. I'll be there in my civilian identity."  
  
"Why not Bat --" Dick started to ask.  
  
Bruce answered the question before his long-time partner could ask it. "Because how would it look if Batman learned of this crime before the police commissioner? Let's play it safe."  
  
"Okay. I'll wait here for you."  
  
"Expect some police. We'll be there in about twenty minutes."  
  
Gotham City police officers did arrive at the Gotham Historical Society shortly after Dick got off the phone with Bruce Wayne. Commissioner Gordon arrived on the scene in short order. He was quite concerned for the safety of his daughter.  
  
Bruce Wayne walked into the building fifteen minutes or so thereafter.  
  
"Bruce!" Commissioner Gordon greeted him.  
  
"Good morning, Commissioner. Any word about Barbara?"  
  
"No, I'm afraid not. I feel horrible. What would the Penguin want with my daughter, Barbara?"  
  
Bruce answered, "I don't know, Commissioner. I'm sure that Batman could answer that question better than I." He then looked past Gordon and spotted his former ward. "Dick! Are you alright?"  
  
Dick rubbed the back of his head. He grimaced when he touched the bump that was the size of an egg. "Yeah, I'll be alright. Bruce, can we go? I don't feel well."  
  
"I asked the lad if he wanted to be checked out at a hospital and he declined," Gordon explained.  
  
"Is it okay that he leaves, Commissioner? I'll have him checked out by my personal physician. Are you through with him?" Bruce asked.  
  
Gordon replied, "Of course, Bruce."  
  
Dick looked at the police commissioner. "Sir? I'm really sorry that I couldn't prevent those villians from taking Barbara. I'm really sick over this. If only I could've ..."  
  
"And may had gotten yourself killed!" interrupted Gordon. "I understand. You did everything you could. But, son, please understand this -- it was the Penguin. Only Batman and Robin can deal with the likes of him!"  
  
"And Nightwing," Dick added while rubbing the back of his head.  
  
"Yes. Of course, and Nightwing. Go home and get some rest, son," the commissioner instructed.  
  
Dick asked, "Please call me if you hear from her, sir."  
  
"Of course. Good night, Dick. ... Bruce."  
  
Bruce and Dick got into the rear of the Wayne limousine. Alfred slid into the driver's seat.  
  
"Bruce, your van is parked in front of ..."  
  
"I'll have it picked up later," Bruce said. "Alfred, let's go home. I think before we arrive back to Wayne Manor we can expect that Batman will receive a call from Commissioner Gordon."  
  
Less than ten minutes later, a beeping sound was heard in the limo. Bruce Wayne pushed back a panel on his left, revealing a secret compartment. Inside was what appeared to be a red telephone.  
  
"Yes, Commissioner?" Bruce said in his Batman voice.  
  
"Batman! Thank goodness you're there! I need your help desperately!" Gordon said.  
  
"You're calling to tell me that your daughter Barbara has been abducted by the Penguin."  
  
Gordon was stunned. "Incredible! How do you do it?!"  
  
"It's my job to know these things, Commissioner. Be assured that I'll do everything in my power to gain her safe return."  
  
A somewhat relieved Commissioner Gordon replied, "Thank you, Batman. I knew I could count on you."  
  
Bruce said, "We'll be in your office in a little while. I think we can expect a ransom demand from the Penguin at anytime."  
  
***  
  
It was about five in the morning in the office of Police Commissioner Gordon. The private line on Gordon's phone buzzed.  
  
"Commissioner Gordon speaking," he answered.  
  
On the other end of the line was a female speaking in a hushed tone. "Oh, hi, Mista Commish! Did ya know there was a TV show named after you? I never watched it because I don't like cop shows. But it --"  
  
"Who is this?" Gordon growled into the phone.  
  
A disappointed voice replied, "It's me, Harley. Don't ya remember me? I'm the cute one with ..."  
  
"What do you want, you delinquent Annabelle!" Gordon growled again.  
  
"Well, ya don't have to get huffy, Commish!" Harley Quinn said. "And I don't know who Annabelle is either!" She lowered her voice again, speaking almost in a whisper. "Listen, before Mista J gets on to talk to ya, I wanted to give ya what I wanted in this deal. I want a case of Happy Time Sucker Drops. Ya know? The ones with bubble gum in the middle? And I want them all in cherry. Ya see, cherry is my favorite. It makes my breath smell --"  
  
Gordon suddenly heard another voice over phone, "Harley!" Then he heard the female say, "Oh-oh. Ahem!" Then in an official sounding voice, she said, "Commissioner Gordon please hold for the Clown Prince of Crime, Mista Joker. He would ..."  
  
The Joker grabbed the phone from Harley and then spoke into it. "A man with a joke, Commissioner."  
  
The angry Commissioner sneered into the phone. "Why, Joker, you --"  
  
"Uh-uh, Commissioner. Don't say anything that may endanger the life of your daughter. By the way, when you see Batman please tell him --"  
  
"Tell him yourself, you clown," Gordon growled again. "He's right here!"  
  
"Ohhhh," the Joker sang into the phone. "Such wonderful service."  
  
The Commissioner handed the phone to the Caped Crusader.  
  
"Batman speaking."  
  
The Joker laughed. "Oh, Batman, how are you?"  
  
"Since when has my health been your concern, Joker?" the Masked Manhunter replied in a dark tone.  
  
"Oh, I care. I care. Everyday I hope your health gets worse and worse."  
  
Batman kept his emotions under control. His voice was as cold as ice. "What do you want?"  
  
"Oh, Batman, it's not so much what I want. I do, however, have something you want."  
  
"Barbara Gordon," the Dark Knight answered.  
  
"Ohhh!" The Joker laughed. "Aren't we the clever detective?" He laughed again. "Yes, Caped Crumb, we have the commissioner's precious daughter. You can have her back safe and sound. We only want one, little, teenie-weenie thing in return."  
  
"My sucker drops!" a high-pitched voice said behind the Joker.  
  
From what Batman could hear, the Joker covered his hand over the phone and said in a muffled voice, "Shut up, Harl! If you don't stop it, we'll be trading you in for --" The Clown Prince of Crime uncovered the phone with his hand and spoke directly to Batman once again. "Where was I?" he asked.  
  
"What do want for the safe return of Miss Gordon?" Batman asked.  
  
"The Riddler!" The Joker laughed.  
  
This time it was Batman who cupped his hand over the telephone and informed everyone in the Commissioner's office, "He wants the Riddler in return for Miss Gordon." The Caped Crusader put the telephone back to his ear. He replied, "All right, Joker. In the interest of receiving the young lady's safe return, we'll make the deal. But I warn you, if you harm that innocent young woman, I'll ..."  
  
"Batman?!" the Joker feigned shock. "We wouldn't dream of harming a defenseless young lady." His voice then turned hard. "But any tricks, old friend ... and I can't guarantee what may happen. Now listen closely. We'll make the trade on the 75th Avenue bridge. You know where that is, don't you?" He stopped to laugh. "You come in the westbound lane. We'll meet you in the middle. We'll bring the commissioner's daughter. You bring the Riddler. Be there at midnight. And cops with guns and other creeps with capes are not invited. You come alone. Bye-bye!" The phone call ended with the Joker laughing hysterically.  
  
***  
  
At the criminal's hideout on the top floor of the Benbow Tavern, Laugher, one of the Joker's henchmen, asked his boss, "Joker? Why do we have to go through all this just for the Riddler?"  
  
The Joker answered, "That question just shows why I'm the boss and you are just underling!" He laughed. "Don't you see, Laugher? We're a team! All for one and one for the joke -- or something like that!" He laughed again. "But most of all, my fine, fellow felon, he understands all that electronic mumble-jumble with alarm systems. I think he learned it in some prison work program." He laughed once more.  
  
One of the Penguin's henchmen was in a corner, sharpening a knife. He put the blade of the knife to his scarred cheek to test how sharp it was. He said with a gleam in his eye, "I say we have some fun with the girl before we make the trade." He looked across the room toward a bound and gagged Barbara Gordon. Barbara's eyes widened in horror at his lurid proposition.  
  
"What am I? Chopped liver?!" Harley yelled out. "Look at me! I'm fun, aren't I?"  
  
"That's not what he meant, Harl," the Joker told her.  
  
She thought for a moment. Then she finally came to the realization at what the villianous henchmen meant. Harley's eyes crossed and a look of fury came across her face. "WHAT?!" she screeched. She leapt on top of the thug and started beating him with her fists. "Are ya INSANE?!!" she screamed between blows.  
  
The member of the Penguin's Grand Order of Occidental Nighthawks, or G.O.O.N's, covered himself from Harley's punches.  
  
The Joker finally managed to pull Harley off the Penguin's henchman.  
  
"Stop it, Harl!" the Joker laughed. "He isn't one of ours!"  
  
The Penguin, who had watched the entire scene, hit his henchman over the head with his umbrella. "Why you, bird brain! Don't you understand anything? First of all, she is the daughter of the police commissioner. Second, if Batman ever found out, he wouldn't rest until he tracked us down to end of the earth!"  
  
"Batman?" the Joker said as he rubbed his jaw, "It's that Nightwing who worries me. Batman may track us down, but it would be Nightwing who would kill us! You should see the look in his eye when he looks at our dear Miss Gordon, there."  
  
Barbara raised her head up at that last statement. She wondered just how did Nightwing look at her? She really hadn't noticed anything unusual. What was it that even these criminals saw?  
  
The Joker continued, "The day we were confronted by those confounded Bats at the library ... if I had pulled the trigger on Miss Gordon, here, I wouldn't be with you now telling you about it, I'm sure." He laughed without humor.  
  
Barbara listened with great interest in how afraid the villians were of Nightwing.  
  
***  
  
A full moon blazed in the sky at midnight in Gotham City. The Batmobile drove onto the 75th Avenue bridge. The steel bridge was the oldest bridge in Gotham City. It was nearly a hundred years old and rose about four hundred feet over the Gotham River.  
  
Batman and a handcuffed Riddler stood alone in front of the Batmobile. Westbound traffic on the bridge had been blocked off by the police. The roadblock was almost a mile behind the two costumed figures.  
  
Batman said to his long-time nemesis, "It looks like your friends aren't going to show up, Riddler."  
  
"Riddle me this Caped Crusader -- what throws towels, sponges and never wins?"  
  
"A loser ... and I'm not a loser, Riddler," the Dark Knight replied quickly.  
  
"Oh?" the Riddler laughed.  
  
"Just why are your friends going to all this trouble for the likes of you, Riddler?" Batman asked.  
  
"Wouldn't you like to know?" the Riddler replied and then giggled loudly.  
  
Suddenly, two pairs of headlights could be seen. They were coming down the wrong way on the bridge, going east in the westbound lanes.  
  
A red automobile and a black van stopped about fifty feet from the Masked Manhunter and the Riddler. The Joker, the Penguin, Harley Quinn and two of the Joker's henchmen got out of the car.  
  
Five more goons jumped out of the van. They set up Barbara's wheelchair and then dumped her into the seat. Barbara had her hands tied in front of her.  
  
The Joker laughed and then called out to Batman, "Batman! I see you've lived up to your end of the bargain!"  
  
"I always keep my promises, Joker," the Caped Crusader replied.  
  
Penguin ordered, "All right, Bat-Breath, just send the Riddler over ..."  
  
The Joker threw his arm sideways, signaling to the Penguin to stop. "Wait! Wait a minute. Alright, Batman, where's the rest of your retarded family? Where's that Nightwing and Boy Blunder?"  
  
Off to the Joker's left a costumed figure emerged from behind a short concrete wall that seperated the vehicle traffic from walking pedestrians.  
  
"That's Boy Wonder to you, Joker!" Robin announced.  
  
All the criminals heads turned toward the teenage partner of the Caped Crusader.  
  
"Looking for me?" Another voice rang out from behind the villians. All heads turned toward Nightwing.  
  
Suddenly, a short bolt shot from a small crossbow pierced the Penguin's top hat, knocking it off his head.  
  
"Perhaps you'd include Huntress, too," a feminine voice said to the right of the group of villians.  
  
"Huntress?" a mystified Robin asked.  
  
"Huntress?" the uncertain Batman asked aloud.  
  
"Huntress?" the Riddler remarked without a clue.  
  
"Huntress?" said Nightwing, who was obviously confused by this new entrant.  
  
The Penguin panicked, he started screaming, "BATS! We're surrounded by BATS!"  
  
All eyes locked upon a tall, beautiful, brunette, who was dressed in a stunning, tight-fitting, maroon and black costume. A black mask shaped in the form of a bat covered her eyes to conceal her identity. Her long hair fell from her head to her shoulders which were covered by an equally long maroon cape that was flapping the night wind. In her hands she held what looked like a very dangerous small crossbow.  
  
The criminals were astonished. They were surrounded on all sides by crimefighters.  
  
The Penguin's face expressed utter horror as he looked to Batman. "Egads, Batman! What graveyard did all of you rise from? They move like ghosts!"  
  
An unimpressed Joker spat, "Bah! Ghosts?! Hooded Has-beens, if you ask me! Get them!"  
  
The members of the Penguin's G.O.O.N's who had piled out of the van attacked Nightwing like a pack of wolves. Nightwing leaped into the air and threw himself into his attackers.  
  
The Penguin, Harley Quinn, and Barbara Gordon looked on in amazement. The ordinary person ran away from a group of cutthroats -- Nightwing attacked.  
  
The pile of bodies crumpled to the pavement with Nightwing on top.  
  
Some distance from that scene, the Riddler struck a distracted Batman in the back with his fists that were handcuffed in front of him. Batman staggered a bit but recovered in time as the Penguin attempted to lance him with his umbrella. The Caped Crusader sidestepped him and punched him in the jaw.  
  
Nightwing was twisting and turning, knocking G.O.O.N's down left and right.  
  
One thug tried to tackle the newcomer, Huntress, from behind. The female crimefighter turned sideways, kneeled on her right knee, backhanded a fist into the criminal's abdomen. The blow knocked the air out of the man's lungs. Huntress stood back up and gave the villian a backhand fist to the face which sent the man sprawling to the ground.  
  
Robin knocked one attacker out with a punch. He then grabbed the Penguin by the shoulders, spun him around and punched him hard in the face. The Black Bird of Prey fell back so hard that his head struck the front bumber of the red autombile. The Penguin layed on the ground unconscious.  
  
Nightwing punched another G.O.O.N in the face. He sensed another thug coming at him from behind. Nightwing gave that would-be attacker a back kick to the groin, which sent the man to his knees, grabbing his crotch, in considerable pain.  
  
The Joker hit Batman as Harley looked from one battle to another totally confused about what to do. The Clown Prince of Crime jumped on the Masked Manhunter. Batman's back was across the front hood of the Batmobile. The Joker had his hands around Batman's throat, trying to choke the life out of the Caped Crusader.  
  
Robin observed what was happening to Batman. He disposed of the goon he was battling with by punching the man with a right cross to the chin. The Boy Wonder ran to the aid of Batman. He executed a perfect drop kick to the side of the Joker's head. The Chaplain of Chicanery went flying to the asphalt.  
  
Another thug tried to throw a right hand across the jaw of Batman. The Dark Knight caught the blow in the palm of one hand, caught the man's wrist and flipped the thug to the ground on his back with a remarkable martial arts move. Batman kept a grip on his opponent's wrist and placed a hard foot into the thug's mid-section.  
  
Barbara Gordon could not believe her eyes. One of the Penguin's henchmen, the one that had made the lurid advace to her, pulled a long, ugly knife out of his belt. Barbara screamed, "HUNTRESS! LOOK OUT!"  
  
The criminal lunged at the female crimefighter. Huntress sidestepped the attack but not in time to avoid the glancing tip of the blade. The knife had sliced a long, clean rip to her side, just cutting the skin. Huntress blinked at the cut. Then an expression of absolute fury contorted her good looks. Her voice was as cold and smoking as dry ice. The words she said raised the hackles on the back of the attacking thug's thick neck. "You shouldn't had done that," she murmurred.  
  
The attacker lunged again, stabbing at Huntress' heart. The woman caught his wrist, and the blade struck the side of the black van, just an inch away from Huntress' ample chest. As easily as if she were playing with a child, Huntress clasped an arm lock on the G.O.O.N. and bent the man's arm to the point of where the pain caused him to drop the weapon. The thug whimpered as she kept bending the arm until there was a loud audible snap and the man collapsed to the ground in agony.  
  
Batman, Robin, and Nightwing were still slugging it out with a number of the criminal-kidnappers.  
  
The Joker had seen enough. Running to where Barbara Gordon and Harley Quinn were watching the incredible fight, the Clown Prince of Crime roughly shoved Harley out of the way. He then started to push Barbara's wheelchair to the side of the bridge. Barbara did all she could do to make it difficult for the villian but there wasn't much she could do with her hands tied in her lap.  
  
The master-criminal picked her up out of the wheelchair and swung her to his shoulder.  
  
Nightwing spotted what the Joker was up to. Quickly, he pulled out his Bat- A-Rang from a concealed compartment in his left glove gauntlet. With even more speed, he tied one end of his Bat-rope into a corner of the multi- purpose boom-a-rang.  
  
The Joker was just about to throw Barbara off the bridge. If he did throw her off, she would plunge almost four hundred feet into the Gotham River below.  
  
Nightwing screamed at the top of his lungs, "NO!!"  
  
Without giving the idea a second thought, the Joker threw Barbara off the bridge. Nightwing raced toward the edge, hardly two seconds too late. But he never stopped running. Nightwing threw his Bat-A-Rang at a supporting beam and dived off the bridge after Barbara Gordon.  
  
The Bat-A-Rang twirled around the support beam of the bridge.  
  
Batman looked on in horror as he saw Nightwing dive off the bridge.  
  
The Joker yelled to all the criminals, "Let's go!" The villians ran to their vehicles, including the Riddler.  
  
Batman and Robin ran to the edge of the Bridge.  
  
Nightwing, with his one hundred seventy-five pound weight, dived after the only woman he ever really loved. He was diving head first with one arm extended over his head in hopes of catching Barbara. The other hand was held extremely loose around the the silk Bat-rope that was reeling out of another compartment on his uniform.  
  
He miraculously caught Barbara with his left arm. She screamed. Nightwing immediately caught the Bat-rope in a tight grip in his right fist. The sudden, jarring stop almost caused him to slip on the rope, but with his amazing strength, he held on.  
  
Barbara screamed, "WING?!!" She immediately went into a state of shock. Her mind was overwhelmed by the dangerous events that had just happened in a matter of a few seconds.  
  
Nightwing had cheated death and, so far, was winning.  
  
"Nightwing! How did you --"  
  
"NEVER MIND!" he yelled, cutting her off.  
  
With his incredible strength, he was holding on with one arm. A combined weight of about three hundred pounds was dangling about one hundred feet above the Gotham River.  
  
The villians and their henchmen quickly fled in their vehicles.  
  
Batman and Robin were not interested in apprehending the criminals. The two crimefighters pulled at the Bat-rope with all their strength.  
  
When Nightwing and Barbara Gordon were safely back on top of the bridge, Robin exclaimed, "Holy Acrobatics, Nightwing! That was the most incredible save I ever saw!"  
  
Nightwing winced at the "Holy" exclamation.  
  
Barbara was still in a state of shock. Tears rolled down her eyes.  
  
"Miss Gordon?" Nightwing said to her.  
  
She blinked lovingly at him. "I ... I ..."  
  
Nightwing took her into his arms and held her. "It's all right. You're safe now. I won't let them harm you."  
  
Robin yelled, "Look, Batman! They left the Penguin!"  
  
The Penguin was lying prone on the ground, still unconscious from the blow he received from the Boy Wonder.  
  
Batman pointed in another direction, "Look over there. They left another goon."  
  
Nightwing told him, "That goon is the one who attacked Huntress with a knife."  
  
"Speaking of Huntress, where'd she go? I don't see her," Robin asked.  
  
"I don't know, Robin," Batman answered. "She must've disappeared in all of the confusion."  
  
"Do we have an idea who she is?" questioned Nightwing.  
  
Everyone shook their heads.  
  
Police vehicles screamed to a halt near the heroes. Commissioner Gordon jumped out of an unmarked car and was reunited with his daughter. As he held her, his eyes expressed thanks to Batman and his masked partners.  
  
To be continued ... 


	9. The Villians Try Again

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
Author's Note: This chapter contains an adaptation of some scenes from the 1966 Batman movie.  
  
CHAPTER 9 - THE VILLIANS TRY AGAIN  
  
It was late afternoon. The Gotham news media was assembled in the office of Police Commissioner Gordon, who was holding a press conference. The subject being reported upon was the kidnapping and safe recovery of the commissioner's daughter, Barbara.  
  
Behind a podium, in which the commissioner was giving his remarks, were Chief O'Hara, Batman, Robin, Barbara Gordon and Dick Grayson.  
  
The commissioner was concluding his remarks, "... and that's my statement, ladies and gentlemen of the press. I will now take your questions."  
  
All at once a barrage of questions was yelled at the group standing behind the podium. One question managed to resonate through the others, "Batman! What happened to the Riddler?"  
  
Batman cleared his throat before speaking. "Unfortunately, Mr Drummond, the Riddler was able to escape while Robin and I were retrieving Miss Gordon and Nightwing as they were dangling from the bridge."  
  
A feminine voice rang out, "Where is Nightwing, Batman?"  
  
"Good day, Miss Morales. To answer your question ... Nightwing was unable to attend this press conference. He is attending to some other pressing business."  
  
***  
  
In the top floor flat that was above the Benbow Tavern, several criminals were watching the news conference with a great deal of interest.  
  
"Who's that cute guy standing next to Red?" Harley Quinn asked.  
  
The Riddler answered, "Who knows? It's probably her boyfriend."  
  
"Yeah, I think he is," said the former Penguin henchman known as Tuna. Since the Penguin had been captured, he was a now a member of the Joker's crew and had been renamed Giggler. "When we grabbed the chick the other night, he was there. I slugged him on the back of the head with my trusty sap."  
  
Harley giggled. "A sap hit a sap with a sap."  
  
There was a round of laughter at female villian's joke.  
  
The Joker ordered while pointing at the television, "Quiet! I want to hear this!"  
  
***  
  
Back at the press conference, James Downing of the Gotham Tribune asked, "Miss Gordon, could you please tell us about your ordeal and your dramatic rescue?"  
  
All eyes focused on the young woman in the wheelchair.  
  
"As for my ordeal, it was horrible. But I must say that I was not treated badly by my captors. As for my rescue, I can't say enough about the courage and the amazing abilities of Nightwing. He risked his life to save me from the clutches of death. If he had miscalculated in any way, we both would certainly been killed. I'm sorry he's not here." She looked up to Dick Grayson. "I would've truly like to thank him properly."  
  
"Miss Gordon, who is the young man standing behind you?" asked Diane Schumacher of radio station WGC.  
  
Barbara looked behind her once more and offered her hand to Dick. "This is Richard Grayson, my close, dear, friend who was brutally attacked when the Penguin abducted me."  
  
"Are you the same Richard Grayson that was Bruce Wayne's ward at one time?" came a question.  
  
Dick answered, "Yes. I was once billionaire Bruce Wayne's ward."  
  
John Irwin of the Gotham Times asked, "Miss Gordon, will this ordeal, in any way, change your life?"  
  
She thought about the question for a moment and then answered, "No, I'll just try to forget about it and chalk it up as an experience living in Gotham City. We have so many of those odd, costumed criminals running around. Thank goodness we have Batman, Robin, and, of course, Nightwing here to protect us."  
  
"What about this new crimefighter called Huntress?" came another question from the press corps.  
  
Batman spoke, "I'm not sure what to tell you. She came as a surprise and I discourage others to attempt fighting crime in a costume. Crimefighting is a dangerous business best left to the professionals."  
  
The media raised their hands and shouted for the Caped Crusader's attention. But a stunning red-headed woman caught Batman's eye and he pointed to her. "You there, Miss ...?"  
  
The beautiful woman stepped forward. Her hands held a small camera. She answered the Dark Knight in a heavy Russian accent, "Natasha Alianova Romanova. I am from the Moscow Post."  
  
Batman's voice seemed to lower somewhat. "You grace us with your presence. May I be of service?"  
  
The woman raised the camera a little higher. "If you please, to take off the mask to, uh, get a better picture."  
  
An incredulous Commissioner Gordon blurted out, "Great Scott! Batman take off his mask!?"  
  
"The woman must be mad!" Chief O'Hara exclaimed.  
  
Batman held his hand up for silence. "Please! Chief O'Hara -- all of you -- this young lady is a stranger to our shores. The request is not unnatural, however, impossible to grant."  
  
"Impossible?" the woman asked in a disappointed voice.  
  
The Masked Manhunter replied, "Indeed. If Robin and I were to remove our masks, the secret of our true identities would be revealed."  
  
"Completely destroying their value as ace crimefighters," Commissioner Gordon informed her.  
  
"Sure, ma'am, not even Commissioner Gordon or me'self know who they really are," O'Hara explained.  
  
Robin chimed in, "In fact, our own relatives we live with don't know."  
  
The woman looked Batman up and down with her eyes. "But your so curious costumes ..."  
  
Robin said, "Don't be put off by them, ma'am. Under this garb we are perfectly ordinary Americans."  
  
A challenging smile crossed the lips of the woman, "You are like the masked vigilantes in the westerns, no?"  
  
"Certainly not!" Commissioner Gordon said in an indignant voice. "Batman and Robin are fully deputized agents of the law!"  
  
"Support your police!" Robin said. "That's our message."  
  
Batman looked to his younger partner. "Well said, Robin. And no better way to end this press conference. Thank you and ... good day."  
  
As the reporters began to leave the commissioner's office, Batman kept his eye on the extremely attractive female from Russia as she exited the office.  
  
***  
  
At the villianous hideout of Batman's foes, the Joker laughed and said, "Mr Riddler, I think I've come up with another brilliant plan!"  
  
"Your plans have been less than stellar so far, you laughing jack-in-the- box," the Riddler said while sneering.  
  
"Oh, we're not in jail, are we?" the Joker asked.  
  
"I WAS in jail not too long ago," the man in green intoned.  
  
"But you aren't now. So listen ... when they mentioned Bruce Wayne's name, it gave me a wonderful idea." the Clown Prince of Crime said smiling.  
  
An unimpressed Riddler remarked, "I don't get it"  
  
"Don't you see, Mr Riddler?" the Joker laughed again. "Think about it. We grab Wayne and then demand the Penguin back -- plus cash! Lot's of it!" The Joker laughed some more and then did a pirouette in the middle of the room.  
  
"Do we really need the Penguin that bad?" The Riddler asked.  
  
The Joker stopped dancing and his voice turned hard. "It's the least we can do for him, Riddler. He did it for you."  
  
"Yeah!" Harley added.  
  
"But it probably means another run-in with Batman and his crowd," Riddler replied.  
  
"Yeah!" Harley added.  
  
"Shut up, Harl!" Joker ordered and then tried to explain to his criminal colleague, "We need our little team together if we're going to pull off that gem job in the Diamond District."  
  
The Joker reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a "Cigar?" he asked.  
  
The Riddler rolled his eyes, shook his head and walked away.  
  
***  
  
Later that evening at stately Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne was sitting in his favorite easy chair in his large living room. He was doing something he hadn't done in long time. He was reading a book on anthropology. Bruce was concentrating on a chapter about Margaret Mead, who wrote a book that was called "Coming of Age in Samoa." Mead's book had been based upon her research in the South Pacific in 1925 and 1926.  
  
Bruce was so fascinated with the chapter that he didn't even hear Alfred approach. A slight cough caught his attention. Bruce turned a page without even looking up, "Yes, Alfred?"  
  
"You have a telephone call, sir. A young lady named Romanova?"  
  
Bruce had to think for a moment. "Does she have a Russian accent?"  
  
"Indeed, sir."  
  
"I'll take the call. Thank you."  
  
Alfred bowed slightly and left the room. Bruce went over to a side table and picked up a cordless phone.  
  
"Hello? Billionaire Bruce Wayne speaking."  
  
On the other end of the line was a now somewhat familiar voice of the woman who questioned Batman that afternoon in Commissioner Gordon's office. "Hello, Mr Wayne? My name is Natasha Romanova. We've never met, but I believe it is important that I see you as soon as possible."  
  
"Can you tell me what this is about, Miss Romanova?"  
  
"I found something that was written on Wayne Enterprises stationary. It appears to be criminal in nature."  
  
"Criminal, you say?" asked Bruce.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Hmmm. Perhaps I should take a look at it. Where can I meet you?"  
  
"I am staying at the Gotham Arms Hotel. Room 1604."  
  
"Very well, Miss Romanova. I'm leaving now. I should be there in about thirty minutes. Good-bye."  
  
Bruce hung up the phone.  
  
Why would a Russian reporter receive some type of criminal-related message on Wayne Enterprises stationary? It sounded very strange. It also smelled like a trap.  
  
Bruce picked up the telephone again and made a phone call to someone who might be interested in where he was going this evening.  
  
***  
  
Less than an hour later, Bruce Wayne was sitting on a small couch in a large room at the Gotham Arms Hotel. He was watching the incredibly beautiful Natasha Romanova pacing in front of him. She was wearing a light green, long-sleeved dress that accentuated every curve of her body.  
  
Bruce thought it was best to re-examine the paper that he held in his hands. He asked her, "You say you found these riddles written on Wayne Enterprises stationary slipped under the door of your hotel room?"  
  
She looked into his eyes. "Yes, Mr Wayne. That is why I called you. At first, I thought it was some foolishness. But then, I remembered -- is there not a criminal cad in this country called the, uh, Riddler, who preys upon the workers of America?"  
  
Bruce smiled. "Your jargon is quaint, Miss Romanova. But, uh, there is such a creature, I believe."  
  
"Well, what do we do now? Report these riddles to your police? Or perhaps to that masked cossack, Batman?"  
  
Bruce smiled again. "Oh, that's hardly necessary at the moment. Doubtless it is the work of some harmless crackpot."  
  
Suddenly, there was the sound of splintering wood and the door to hotel room burst open.  
  
The sound of laughter was heard. "This is a kidnapping! Our joke's on you!" The Joker laughed again as he entered.  
  
Bruce Wayne was stunned -- but only for a moment. He stood up in front of Natasha to put himself between the criminals and her. A look of determination was on his face. He quickly considered the risk of exposing his secret identity. There was little chance that he was going to allow the villians to place Natasha Romanova into an ordeal like they did Barbara Gordon.  
  
He turned sideways and was preparing to attack the six criminals, including Harley Quinn, who stood in front of him.  
  
Natasha looked at Bruce and she was shocked. She had done her homework on Wayne. He was widely known to be a fop and a womanizer who chased anything that wore a short skirt. But the gentleman who she had been talking to a few moments before changed before her very eyes. He now became very different and somewhat familiar to her.  
  
She saw the quick reflexes. His posture changed. She had noticed the calluses on his hands earlier. Natasha was able to tell by the way he positioned his body and hands that he had been very well trained in martial arts. He was ready to take on five men and woman at one time in order to protect her from any harm.  
  
There was another man, she knew, in Gotham City, who fit that description. She looked again. His size was right. But, still, she was unsure.  
  
Harley Quinn strutted up to Natasha. "Ha! Another red-head! This town is full of red-heads, Mistah J!"  
  
Harley then shoved Natasha onto the couch by pushing her in the chest.  
  
Bruce Wayne never took his eyes off the Joker. "I'm not letting you take her, you demented clown!"  
  
The Joker laughed. "Her? Who needs her? We want you!" He laughed again.  
  
"ME?!" Bruce exclimed dumbfounded. Realizing that his secret identity was at stake, he relaxed somewhat. He would allow the villians to take him as long as Natasha was not harmed.  
  
Three of the Joker's thugs grabbed Bruce.  
  
Natasha yelled, "WAIT!" She ran into Bruce's arms and kissed him very hard. Because everyone was taken by surprise by the woman throwing herself at the billionaire, no one, including Bruce, saw her slipping something into the pocket of his sport jacket.  
  
On the roof of the building across the street from the Gotham Arms Hotel, a pair of eyes was watching the entire scene through a pair of hi-tech binoculars. The observer made a strange sound, "Mrrow."  
  
The Joker laughed as he pulled Natasha off of Bruce. "I see you live up to your reputation as a playboy, Mr Wayne."  
  
Harley slid right into Bruce's arms. "Let me try some of that!" she said smiling broadly.  
  
"HARLEY!" growled the Joker.  
  
"Sorry, puddin', I got carried away."  
  
Bruce said to Natasha as he was being escorted out the door, "Miss Romanova, please inform the hotel to put a better quality of lock on their doors."  
  
The Joker laughed again and said, "Oh, very funny, Mr Wayne." He looked to Natasha. "Dear lady, please do us all a favor and call 911. Tell them what's happened!" He laughed and then said in a singing voice, "Tell them it was the Joker!"  
  
"And Harley!" his feminine criminal cohort added as she danced out of the room.  
  
The Joker and Harley giggled and laughed all the way out of the hotel with Bruce Wayne in tow. Witnesses would later tell police that the man who looked like a clown kept telling people as he hackled in the lobby, "A joke a day keeps the gloom away."  
  
On the rooftop across the street from the hotel, Catwoman was putting away her surveillance gear and pulled out another handheld device that had a video screen. She turned it on and saw that it was functioning properly.  
  
She looked down and saw the henchmen and Bruce piling into a black van. The Joker and Harley Quinn took off in red sports car that sported the Clown Prince of Crime's visage on the front hood.  
  
Catwoman seemingly spoke into the night air. "O? The bad guys just took B. I'll be trailing them via this little handheld device I have. Do you have a fix as well, in case something goes wrong with my tracking device?"  
  
"Affirmative, C.W. I have them traveling north on Sprang Avenue coming up to 34th Street," Oracle said in Catwoman's ear via an encrypted radio communications link.  
  
"When they kidnapped you, did you know where you were?"  
  
"Negative. They blindfolded me going in and out of their lair," Barbara Gordon replied.  
  
Catwoman sighed. "Well, that makes it a little harder, but I'll find them."  
  
***  
  
Natasha Romanova did not call 911. Knowing that hotel security and management was probably on its way up to the room. Natasha grabbed a black briefcase and moved quickly out of the room. She took the elevator to the top floor and managed to find her way to the roof of the Gotham Arms Hotel.  
  
Once on the roof, she found a secluded spot behind some large air conditioning units. Natasha entered the proper combination on the locks of the briefcase and opened it. Inside was a black outfit, along with some equipment.  
  
A few minutes later, Natasha Romanova was standing on the roof of the hotel wearing a black body suit that was so tight it looked like she had been poured into it. Every imaginable curve of her body was clearly visible in the costume in which the gloves and boots were covered with microscopic suction cups that enabled her to crawl on walls and ceilings. Around her waist was a gold belt that was covered with disks that were filled with explosives that functioned as grenades. On her wrists were her gold "widow's bite" bracelets, capable of firing blasts of electricity, gas- filled capsules that exploded on contact or a grappling cable line.  
  
Unbeknownst to anyone in Gotham City, Natasha Romanova was the Black Widow.  
  
From her special briefcase, the Black Widow pulled a handheld device that looked very similar to the one that Catwoman was using. The screen on the tracking device lit up and an arrow pointed in the direction she needed to go as well as a digital Global Positioning System readout.  
  
The Widow pointed her right arm out and fired a grappling line at a nearby building. The incredible woman swung out over the streets of Gotham City in pursuit of the abductors of Bruce Wayne.  
  
***  
  
While Catwoman and the Black Widow were pursuing the kidnappers, Bruce Wayne was tied up and blindfolded in the van with the Joker's henchmen.  
  
"Hey, Laugher, when do ya think the bosses are going to pull off the gem job?" one of the thugs asked.  
  
"Have a care, Goofy!" Laugher said while jerking his thumb toward Bruce.  
  
"Oops, I forgot. The boss would cut my heart out if he'd heard me. Hey, millionaire playboy! Didja hear what I said?" the criminal asked.  
  
Bruce pretended he was in deep thought.  
  
"Hey, Wayne! Wake up!" The thug nudged him roughly.  
  
"Huh?" Bruce looked up blindly. "What?"  
  
Goofy laughed. "Never mind. See what I mean, Laugher? He's too scared. He's thinking about what we're going to do to him."  
  
Bruce thought to himself, "You should be worried about what I'm going to do to you, stupid. I wonder what he meant by 'gem job.'"  
  
***  
  
Catwoman heard Oracle in her ear. "It looks like they stopped, C.W. You read the same?"  
  
As the incredibly athletic Catwoman was diving between two high-rise buildings, she managed to reply, "That's how it looked to me about a minute ago. I'm almost there."  
  
On the roof of a nearby building, another costumed figured caught sight of Catwoman as she was moving from building to building. The dark figure decided to follow the former princess of plunder.  
  
***  
  
On the top floor of the building that housed the Benbow Tavern, a blindfolded and tied Bruce Wayne was being treated a little roughly by his captors. He was shoved to sit on a plain wooden chair.  
  
"... and we don't want to hear a word outta you! Ya understand, Mr Millionaire?!" one of the henchmen ordered.  
  
Bruce pretended to be frightened. "Oh -- yes, sir."  
  
The four goons in the room gathered around a table and began to play a game of poker.  
  
Bruce looked around the room. Near a barricaded rear door, there was a pile of garbage.  
  
"Such filthy criminals," Bruce thought to himself.  
  
A few moments later, Harley Quinn skipped into the room. "Hiya!" she said with a smile.  
  
Bruce just looked at her.  
  
"Wanna hear a joke?" she asked her captive audience.  
  
"Uh, no I rather not, Miss ...? Miss?"  
  
She stuck out her hand. "Harley Quinn! I'm the leader of this here gang!"  
  
With his eyes, Bruce tried to convey to Harley that his hands were tied behind his back and that it wasn't possible for him to shake her hand.  
  
He said to her, "I thought the Joker was the leader of this gang."  
  
Harley cupped her hand around her mouth and leaned close to Bruce's ear and whispered, "Naw, Mistah J is just the mascot -- I'm the real brains."  
  
Bruce's eyes widened in mock understanding and he nodded slowly as she backed away.  
  
"So," she continued, "Ya wanna hear a joke?"  
  
"Not really, Miss Quinn, I'm a little concerned about my predictment as you might imagine."  
  
Harley smiled broadly. "Aww, don't worry, sweetcheeks! We're just gonna trade you in for Pengy. We wouldn't hurt you. Yer what they call an upstandin' citizen of Gotham City. As long as ya don't piss off my puddin, ya got nothin' to worry about."  
  
Seeing that there were no other available chairs in the room, Harley decided to straddle Bruce and sat in his lap. She placed her arms around Bruce's neck and began to move her tush ever so slightly in his lap.  
  
The Joker and the Riddler walked into the room.  
  
"HARLEY!" the clown prince of crime yelled in mock disbelief.  
  
The Joker then looked to Bruce Wayne. "Are you trying to make time with my girl, Wayne?! What's with you? I know all about your reputation! You'd chase anything in a skirt!"  
  
"But I'm not wearin' a skirt, puddin' --"  
  
"Shut up, Harl! This is between us men!" the Joker demanded.  
  
Bruce Wayne just closed his eyes and shook his head knowing he was being held captive in a lunatic asylum.  
  
***  
  
A short distance away from the Benbow Tavern, Catwoman knew she was getting close to Bruce Wayne. Her borrowed Bat-homing device was now flashing red on its small screen.  
  
"He must be around here," she thought to herself. Looking at the row of commercial businesses that were situated on the city block, Catwoman spotted the tavern and began to move toward it.  
  
From the rooftop vantage point of the building next door to the Benbow Tavern, Catwoman spotted a skylight. She quietly jumped onto the roof of the tavern.  
  
Light was coming from the skylight as she looked through it. She snickered at what she saw. Four henchmen were playing a card game around a table. Just a few feet away was a bound Bruce Wayne.  
  
Suddenly, from behind her, Catwoman heard a slight noise of gravel being moved on the roof. She turned quickly to confront whoever it was that was with her on the rooftop. What she saw was another caped figure -- a female she wasn't familiar with.  
  
"Who are you?" Catwoman demanded.  
  
The tall girl in maroon and black was holding a small crossbow that was aimed directly at Catwoman. "I'm called Huntress. I presume you're the Catwoman."  
  
Keeping her eyes on the weapon that was pointed at her, Catwoman said, "You want to be careful where you point that."  
  
"You're a criminal," Huntress explained.  
  
Catwoman let out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's what the papers say. But tonight I'm playing one of the good guys. I'm here to rescue a kidnapped Bruce Wayne from the Joker and the Riddler."  
  
"Bruce Wayne has been kidnapped?"  
  
"You don't have to believe me," Catwoman replied pointing to the skylight, "just look for yourself."  
  
Huntress moved cautiously toward the skylight, keeping her crossbow aimed at Catwoman. She peered down and saw that sure enough Catwoman was telling the truth.  
  
"Why should you care if Bruce Wayne is kidnapped?" the tall brunette with the cape asked.  
  
Catwoman sighed again. "Let's just say I have a personal interest." She pulled out the Bat-homing device and showed it to the younger woman. "He has a tracking device on him, that's how I've been following him."  
  
Suddenly, there was another slight noise from another portion of the rooftop. The two woman turned and saw, yet, a third woman. This one was dressed in a skintight black outfit.  
  
An incredulous Catwoman remarked, "This rooftop is getting crowded."  
  
"My tracking device indicates the same thing," the mysterious woman replied.  
  
As the third woman moved closer, Catwoman recognized her as the same woman who Bruce Wayne had been meeting with in the hotel room. Catwoman started, "You're ..."  
  
"Black Widow," the woman replied.  
  
"I've heard of you," Huntress said. "Weren't you a vigilante operating in San Francisco?"  
  
"Da," the woman with the Russian accent confirmed. "I'm here in Gotham City on other business when I apparently stumbled upon these criminals. They abducted Bruce Wayne from right under my nose."  
  
Catwoman pointed to the skylight, "Well, there he is."  
  
The three woman looked at each other and then smiled.  
  
Huntress asked, "Well. what are we going to do about this?"  
  
Catwoman grinned again. "Oh, that's easy! We do -- THIS!!" The incredible woman jumped through the glass of the skylight. The glass rained down on the totally surprised criminals.  
  
With his incredible reflexive agility, Bruce Wayne dived out of the way of the falling glass.  
  
Catwoman, followed by Huntress, and then finally Black Widow landed on the floor between Bruce and the four goons.  
  
One of the henchmen started to ask, "How could you survive that kind of a fal --" The thug never finished the sentence because Catwoman sliced with a chop to the head. She then took his right arm, yanked at it, whirled him half way around and let go. The man spun to the floor, hard, like a top.  
  
Black Widow ran to Bruce Wayne and quickly helped him out of his bonds. He looked up flabbergasted at the redheaded woman. "Miss --"  
  
"Black Widow," she finished for him. "Mr Wayne go to that rear door now!" she ordered as she kicked another henchmen out of her way.  
  
Three more henchmen entered the room followed by the Riddler, the Joker and Harley Quinn.  
  
"We got more company!" Huntress yelled as she slammed another goon to the floor.  
  
The Riddler looked obviously upset at the Joker. "You crazy clown!" he said. "You should've figured every damn female hero in town would come to rescue Bruce Wayne!"  
  
Catwoman caught sight of the Riddler and she focused on him. "Eddie! I'm going to kill you!" she screamed as she started to move toward him.  
  
Knowing he was still in deep trouble with Catwoman for almost killing her in the museum, the Riddler quickly exited through the doorway to escape.  
  
Catwoman's pursuit of the Prince of Puzzlers was blocked by two goons. "GET HER!" One of them yelled.  
  
"In your dreams!" Catwoman replied as she jumped up and kicked one in the face.  
  
The second man swung at her head. She ducked, placed her hand on the floor, spun her body with one leg stuck out and upended her opponent who fell to the floor on his back. Catwoman then jumped back up and landed hard on the man's chest with both of her knees. She heard an audible, "Oof!" as the air was knocked out of the criminal.  
  
Apparently the criminals had been using the hideout as a place to keep stolen merchandise in. Huntress saw a rack of stolen fur coats. The rack had wheels on it. She grabbed the rack and started wheeling it toward three thugs who had armed themselves with pistols.  
  
"This is 'fur' you," Huntress said as she knocked down one by pushing the rack into him. The other two henchmen were able to move out of the way of the rack of coats.  
  
Giggler called out, "Our guns will stop your gags!"  
  
Just a split second before the two villians opened fire, Huntress dived to the floor and rolled herself toward the two criminals. She kicked Giggler in the groin. He moaned in pain as he dropped to the floor quickly, holding himself where he was hurt.  
  
Huntress then grabbed the other thug's gun hand and pulled. She put her boot into his abdomen, rolled on her back and threw the man across the room.  
  
A large number of sirens were heard outside the building. Knowing the location of where Bruce Wayne was being held, Oracle had informed the police.  
  
Harley rushed to a window. "Puddin! The cops are here! What do we do?"  
  
The Joker turned to look for his hostage -- Bruce Wayne. He spotted the billionaire near the rear exit with a black-clad woman he had never seen before. The Clown Prince of Crime started to move meancingly toward Bruce and Black Widow. The redheaded woman raised her left arm and suddenly the Joker was jolted with several thousands volts of electricity, courtesy of Black Widow's taser in her Widow's Bite. The Joker dropped to the floor, unconscious.  
  
Harley dropped to her knees beside the Joker, crying. "Puddin?! Puddin?!" She cradled his head into her lap.  
  
Catwoman started to run toward the door the Riddler had used to escape.  
  
Bruce called out to her, "Catwoman! NO! Come this way!"  
  
She stopped in her tracks. One part of her wanted to chase the Riddler and beat him to a pulp again. But another part of her knew that a large number of policemen would be at the front door of the top floor of the tavern. Her mission had been accomplished. Bruce was safe.  
  
Catwoman looked at the prone Joker being cradled by the sobbing Harley Quinn.  
  
"Let's go!" Bruce ordered as he led the three costumed women out the rear exit and down the stairs.  
  
The Benbow Tavern hideout had been busted. The Joker, Harley Quinn and all their henchmen were taken into custody by the Gotham City Police Department. The Riddler was the only one to remain at large.  
  
To be continued ... 


	10. Eyes Of Crime

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 10 - EYES OF CRIME  
  
It was some months later when a shadowy silence clutched the darkened street, and the portly man in the taxicab did not like it. His pudgy face was nervous, as he glanced back at the fading lights of the avenue. His voice was gaspy as he turned to his bland companion, to inquire: "You're sure that Nigma expects us, Daley?"  
  
"Of course," replied the bland man, coolly. "I called him this afternoon, Clendon."  
  
The cab stopped under the looming bulk of a massive brownstone house, that seemed like a giant sphinx, waiting to snatch passerbys with its paw. Gotham City had seemingly changed and become darker in the last few months.  
  
Clendon seemed to be all thumbs when he tried to pay the cabbie. Daley gave a short laugh, and produced the needed fare.  
  
Clendon was still nervous when the pair ascended the brownstone steps. He had a right to be.  
  
As the head of the Gotham Jewelers' Association, Alan Clendon regarded himself as a marked man. Wherever he went, Clendon imagined that crooks trailed him, on the chance that he might be carrying jewels.  
  
As a result, Clendon never did carry jewels. But this evening he was doing the equivalent. His companion, Jon Daley, representative of a South African diamond syndicate, had brought along a mere quarter million in uncut stones, for delivery to a largely unknown purchaser, a man by the name of Edward Nigma.  
  
While Daley kept pushing at the doorbell, Clendon squinted across the street. The houses opposite were old and somber. Their deep doorways and heavy step rails struck Clendon as the very sort of shelter that crooks would enjoy. Plucking Daley's sleeve, Clendon hoarsed: "We're in danger here! In danger, I tell you --"  
  
The door of the mansion opened so suddenly that Clendon's cringing weight carried him through into a little vestibule. The portly jeweler would have sprawled, if Daley hadn't caught him.  
  
As the door closed, Clendon turned to the man who had admitted them, expecting to see a servant. Instead, he found a tall man in a green suit, whose long face showed an expression of alarm.  
  
"Mr Nigma!" exclaimed Clendon. "It's quite all right. I was just a bit disturbed, outdoors. My imagination got the better of me."  
  
"Clendon was frightened by the shadows," remarked Daley, with a touch of sarcasm in his dry tone. "I must agree that there were many of them, but none were real."  
  
Both Clendon and Daley noted that Nigma had bolted the big front door. He did the same with the inner door, and glanced doubtfully at its panel of plate glass. He led them across the hall, past an unlighted living room, and up a stairway to the second floor.  
  
The lights of a study greeted them. Once inside, Nigma closed the door and gave a sigh of relief. He motioned his visitors to chairs, and took his seat behind a large desk in front of a good-sized safe that was obviously of modern construction. On a far wall was a very large question mark drawn on the wall.  
  
There were whiskey and soda on the desk, together with glasses and a bucket of ice. In a steadied tone, Nigma suggested that the visitors have a drink.  
  
Both accepted, and Nigma joined them. After a long swallow, the man put down his glass and looked toward Daley.  
  
"Did you bring the uncut diamonds?"  
  
Daley nodded. He produced a cloth bag from his pocket, opened it, and poured a pile of glistening pebbles on the desk. Nigma examined the diamonds with what appeared to be a practiced eye.  
  
"There they are," announced Daley. "The profit from those gems should net you a tidy fortune, Mr Nigma. I wish I had a quarter million to spare. I couldn't ask for a better investment."  
  
Nigma looked to Clendon, who nodded his approval. Still studying the stones, Nigma took another swallow from his glass, then leaned back in his chair.  
  
"The purchase is quite satisfactory," he declared. "I agree with you that Gotham City will soon become the diamond center of the entire world, in place of Amsterdam. With expert diamond cutters coming to America, stones like these can be manufactured into salable jewelry. I shall want more of them later, Daley."  
  
The promise pleased Daley. He leaned back in his own chair and finished his drink in satisfied style. Daley had made his sale. It was Clendon's turn to make a proposition.  
  
"Why not deal through our association, Mr Nigma?" questioned Clendon. "Our membership includes the best jewelry manufacturers and merchants of high repute. We can market your gems."  
  
Nigma smiled. "Riddle me this! What kind of a bell doesn't ring?"  
  
Clendon looked at Nigma dumbfounded.  
  
Answer ... a dumbbell! Do I look like a dumbbell to you, Clendon?"  
  
"Uh, no, of course not, Mr Nigma."  
  
"Then why are you overstocked?" he queried. "I happen to know that you have the largest supply of diamonds in years."  
  
"Because the market is on the rise," insisted Clendon. "This is the time to buy."  
  
"And there will be a time to sell. What then?"  
  
Clendon hesitated at Nigma's question. Nigma smiled again at his visitor's dilemma.  
  
"I am looking forward to that time," declared Nigma. "I intend to establish chain stores throughout the country, to sell diamonds in the fashion of gilt-edged securities. How does that impress you, Clendon?"  
  
"It is perfect!" enthused Clendon. "Buy all the stones you want from Daley, and take ours, too. We are wholesalers, as well as retailers. I assure you, Mr Nigma, that we can supply any market that you create."  
  
Nigma stroked his long chin and gave Clendon a steady glance. Coolly, he questioned: "Why should I create the market? Since it will mean profit to your manufacturers and wholesalers, would I be unfair in expecting you to do your share?"  
  
"We are ready," returned Clendon. "Our association has already agreed to create public interest in diamonds, by displaying them at fashion shows and other events. With our present stock" - Clendon spoke with emphasis - "we shall be able to begin at once. Something which you are not yet prepared to do, Mr Nigma."  
  
Leaning forward, Nigma buried his chin in his hand and gave a smile which both Clendon and Daley appreciated.  
  
"I think that we three can do business," affirmed Nigma. "In fact, I have felt so all along. Something was needed to start it, so I purchased these uncut stones from Daley. That is why I invited some investors to come here later. Suppose we have our whole plan outlined by the time they arrive."  
  
The plan was simple. Daley was to produce raw diamonds, through the South African syndicate, and supply the expert diamond cutters. Clendon's association would handle the manufacture of the jewelry and wholesale the gems to Nigma for his chain-store system.  
  
But the crux, as Nigma emphasized and Clendon agreed, was to place diamonds before the public eye. Again, Clendon declared that his association was equipped to go the limit in putting diamonds on display.  
  
"We have millions in diamonds," assured Clendon. "Not uncut stones, like these, but magnificent finished gems. We can arrange shows that will have all of Gotham City agog, merely through the value of the diamonds that we display. We shall --"  
  
Nigma interrupted. He rose from the desk and stepped to the window. Spreading the heavy curtains, he looked out to the street, then returned, rubbing his chin.  
  
"I thought I heard a certain car," said Nigma. "But it is too early yet. Tell me" -- he turned suddenly to Clendon - "did you actually see any lurkers outside? Anyone wearing a cape, perhaps?"  
  
Clendon's response was a headshake, but he looked worried at Nigma's question.  
  
"I did my best to keep this meeting secret," stated Nigma. "After paying a cold quarter million" -- he was thumbing the uncut diamonds, letting them trickle from his fingers to the desk -- "I would not want to lose it."  
  
"You're afraid of robbery?" questioned Clendon, anxiously. "Perhaps you had better put the stones in the safe."  
  
"I want the investors to see them," said Nigma. "Come, gentlemen, let us forget our qualms. Finish your drinks. At least, I took one wise precaution." He was smiling in reassured fashion. "I told all of my associates to take the night off."  
  
"A good idea," declared Daley. "Do you know, Mr Nigma, I was a bit suspicious of that snoopy fellow that I saw here the other night."  
  
"You must mean Whitey ... I mean, Mr White," mused Nigma. "The man with the sharp nose and the big lower lip."  
  
"That's the fellow."  
  
"Mr White is new. But he came here with a good recommendation. Yet sometimes" - Nigma pondered - "I wonder about White. It was really on account of White that I sent all of my associates out. I did not want to single him from the lot."  
  
Nigma's back was turned toward the door. In their turn, Daley and Clendon were looking at their host. None saw the motion at the door of the room. It was far enough away to be unnoticed.  
  
The door was ajar, and peering through its crack was a face that answered the description that Nigma had just given. From the hallway, Whitey, the doubtful minion, was making the most of his night off by peering in upon the meeting.  
  
There was eagerness upon White's big-lipped face. His eyes had a glitter as they stared at the uncut diamonds. Whitey had listened long enough to hear mention of their value. He had listened long enough, too, to know what to do about it.  
  
Carefully closing the door, he sidled through the hall with sneaky tread.  
  
Reaching the stairway, the man hurried down. There was a telephone in the narrow rear hall that ran along beside the staircase. Hurriedly, White dialed a number, then opened the door of a closet and slid his stooped form inside, taking the telephone with him.  
  
A gleam came into White's eyes. They were ugly eyes, and eager. Eyes of crime, that had spied upon a scene where profit waited. A tool of evil, White was forwarding word to someone who would listen to his tale!  
  
***  
  
"Answer it, Ape."  
  
The man who spoke was blunt-faced, hard of eye and jaw. He was lounging in an easy-chair, wearing a garish smoking jacket. His apartment was lavish, a massy glitter of chromium-plated furniture.  
  
Only one man in Gotham City could have lived in such a place and liked it. That man was Curly Regal, ex-gambler who had once operated in Miami.  
  
"I said, answer the telephone!" snarled Curly, half lifting from his chair. "Hop to it, Ape!"  
  
When it came to nicknames, "Ape" Bundy's fell short. Most members of the monkey tribe were handsome compared to Curly's lumbering bodyguard, whose squinty eyes and grinning mass of ill-formed teeth would have shocked the customers in a museum.  
  
The human gorilla tossed down the comic page that he was reading and lumbered across the big living room. He picked up the telephone and mouthed something that a person with imagination might take to mean "Hello."  
  
Evidently the man at the other end had heard Ape's voice before, for there was a reply. Ape held the telephone in Curly's direction.  
  
"It's Whitey."  
  
Curly popped from his chair, a gleam on his flattish face.  
  
In another corner, a portly, well-groomed man stopped pacing and reached to a pocket of his tuxedo to obtain a platinum cigarette case. While Curly talked to Whitey, the tuxedoed man lighted his cigarette, after inserting it in a long holder.  
  
Many persons knew the face above the tuxedo collar. It belonged to the Penguin, who rated tops in Gotham's crime circles. Why the Penguin happened to be visiting Curly, was a question that only they could answer. But it was plain that the Penguin was interested in the call from Whitey.  
  
As the Penguin listened, his features lost much of their gloss. His eyes took on a shrewd glint, that showed the nature of a scheming crook behind the outward pose of the society man. A man smart enough to escape from Arkham Asylum only last week.  
  
Finished with the telephone call, Curly Regal slapped the receiver on the hook and turned to the Penguin in satisfied style.  
  
"It's a set-up," announced Curly. "Clendon and Daley showed up to see the Riddler, like Whitey expected. Daley delivered the uncuts that the Riddler bought from the syndicate. They're worth two hundred and fifty grand, Whitey says."  
  
The Penguin didn't seem impressed. He let a puff of cigarette smoke stream from the long holder and waited for Curly to say more.  
  
"I told Whitey to leave the way open," declared the ex-gambler. "I'm sending Ape over to pick up those rocks. Riddler's expecting some other people. He'll think that Ape is one of them. That is, until Ape puts on the heat."  
  
The Penguin stared fixedly at a cloud of cigarette smoke, then shook his head. "Even though I owe the Riddler one, I don't like it."  
  
"Why not?" demanded Curly. Then, with a sneer, he queried: "Getting cold feet, Penguin? Afraid they'll trace you through Whitey?"  
  
"Not at all," returned the Penguin. "I'm merely thinking of the future. You know why Clendon is with Daley. He wants to make a deal with the Riddler, to turn those uncut stones into finished gems for the market. They're going to boost diamonds in a big way, Curly. We'll have bigger game ahead."  
  
Curly didn't agree. "Suppose the deal goes wrong," he argued. "What then? We'll have passed up our only chance."  
  
"It can't go wrong," declared the Penguin. "The Riddler is handcuffed, though he doesn't know it. The South African diamond syndicate is a closed corporation that controls everything. It won't let one customer buck another. Clendon is an old customer and the Riddler a new one. They won't supply Riddler if Clendon objects."  
  
"But Daley has already made a sale to the Riddler --"  
  
"Of course," interposed the Penguin. "He took a risk, though, when he did it. He wanted to get Riddler started in the diamond business. He's hoping that the Riddler will make terms with Clendon, without pressure being needed. It's bound to work out the way we want it, Curly. Don't forget that I move around with the right people, and I hear a lot. Clendon and the other jewelers are going to stage the diamond shows that they've talked about. Then we can clean up right."  
  
To emphasize his argument, the Penguin produced a list that Curly had given him.  
  
It contained the names of slick confidence men that Curly had met in Miami.  
  
Every name on the list was a safe one. None of the chosen men was wanted by the law.  
  
"When I line up these sharpshooters," reasoned the Penguin, tapping the list, "I can pass them as blue bloods at any function from a dinner dance to a horse show. We'll go after millions, not fractions --"  
  
Curly interrupted with an impatient gesture. He snatched the list from the Penguin's hand, crumpled it, and thrust it into a pocket of Penguin's tuxedo jacket.  
  
"Keep the list," snapped Curly, "and use it later. I'm not passing up something that's right under my nose! You say that Whitey is safe. All right, I'll have Ape go ahead with the job tonight."  
  
Curly beckoned and Ape approached. Curly drew a rough diagram of the Riddler's rented mansion, from information supplied by Whitey. He told Ape exactly how to enter and leave, adding that he would have a mob crew waiting outside to cover the ugly crook's departure.  
  
"And remember, Ape," added Curly, "these rocks you are going after are uncut diamonds. They don't look like regular sparklers. They look like pebbles. Like these."  
  
Opening a table drawer Curly brought out a cardboard box and showed Ape a collection of beach pebbles that one of Curly's girlfriends had gathered at Miami Beach. Ape mouthed an understanding grunt.  
  
By that time, the Penguin seemed reconciled to the job that Curly Regal intended. Perhaps because no argument could persuade the ex-gambler otherwise.  
  
As a big-shot, Curly had the contacts, from con men to thugs. Nevertheless, Curly considered it good policy to mollify his fancy partner, particularly when he remembered that the Penguin had one connection that would prove important.  
  
Turning from Ape, Curly looked to the Penguin and said: "This is a sure thing, Pengy! It won't hurt those other jobs that you've been waiting for. Besides, we can peddle these uncuts easy. You were telling me you knew a Dutchman who can cut sparklers, and will play ball. What was the guy's name?"  
  
"Isak Droot," replied the Penguin. "He came over from Amsterdam along with the rest of the experts."  
  
"Lammed out of Holland, didn't he?"  
  
"Yes. He was in some trouble over there. They didn't find it out until after he arrived here. He's been keeping himself quite scarce, ever since.  
  
"But you know where to reach him?"  
  
The Penguin gave a nod to Curly's final question. Quite at ease again, the Penguin was lighting another cigarette and showed no resentment toward Curly. The big-shot was pleased.  
  
"We'll let Droot shape the uncuts," decided Curly. "I'm glad you see things the way I do, Pengy, about tonight's job. Leave it to Ape -- he'll come through."  
  
The Penguin looked at Ape, studying the man's grotesque features. Then, turning to Curly, the society man said coolly: "Ape will need a mask."  
  
Tilting his head back, Curly laughed. The suggestion was so obvious that it struck Curly as funny. Facially, Ape Bundy was unique. No one who once saw his gorilla features could ever forget them. What was more, the police knew that Ape worked for Curly Regal and no one else.  
  
They termed Ape the "Big Baboon," and were constantly hoping that they could catch him in some crime, in order that they might pin it on Curly Regal, whose unblemished record annoyed the law. Curly wouldn't think of sending Ape on a job unmasked. But that was not the only reason for Curly's laugh.  
  
The big-shot had something else up the sleeve of his garish smoking jacket -- a stunt that he knew would impress the infamous Penguin. Stepping to a closet, Curly opened the door, then questioned: "I'm sure you've had many run-ins with Batman?"  
  
The Penguin gave an unperturbed nod.  
  
"Do you know who he really is?"  
  
"Nobody does," returned the Penguin.  
  
"Yeah," agreed Curly, "and Batman does things his own way, don't he?"  
  
The Penguin nodded. Ape shifted uneasily. The Big Baboon didn't like to hear Batman mentioned. The very name distressed crooks of his ilk. But Curly didn't notice Ape. While reaching into the closet, the big-shot was still addressing the Penguin. "The way Batman does things," repeated Curly, "has made a lot of people think that he might go crooked some day, if it meant enough. Two hundred and fifty grand of easy pickings ought to mean enough -- even for Batman!"  
  
The Penguin scoffed at that statement. "My fine, fellow, felon, two hundred fifty grand is nowhere near enough to make Batman go crooked."  
  
With that, Curly produced a black cape, a costume and a bat cowl from the closet. He tossed the garments to Ape, who dodged them. Then stooped sheepishly to pick them up, as Curly guffawed and the Penguin smiled at the human gorilla's fright.  
  
"Climb into those, Ape," ordered Curly. Then, bringing a pair of black gauntlets from the closet shelf. "Shove these over those hairy mitts of yours."  
  
Curly waited until Ape had put on the gloves. "Tighten that cape over the collar," ordered Curly, finally, "and when you talk, use a growling whisper."  
  
Ape had left by the rear exit, when the Penguin strolled from the front. Entering his driven car, the Penguin told the driver to take him to Number Ninety-nine, one of Gotham City's swankiest nightclubs, which was well patronized by the elite.  
  
There, among the best of Gotham's society, the Penguin would have a perfect alibi for the evening, though he was quite sure that he would not need one.  
  
As he rode, the Penguin wore the same shrewd expression that he had flashed in the presence of Curly Regal. Far from being ruffled over Curly's plan for a premature robbery, the Penguin relished it. The idea of blaming it on Batman appealed to the Penguin.  
  
The thing was a sinister scheme. A credit to Curly Regal. From it, the Penguin saw success to evil. Not merely upon this evening, but in many crimes to come!  
  
To be continued ... 


	11. Death In The Dark

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 11 - DEATH IN THE DARK  
  
Soon after the Penguin's departure from Curly Regal's apartment, a big limousine left the door of the exclusive Templeton Club, which was located in the Darling Building, the conservative gathering place of Gotham City's millionaires.  
  
The limousine had turned the corner, when a member of the staff dashed out from the club and spoke to the doorman. Returning, the employee stopped at a telephone in the foyer.  
  
"I'm very sorry," he said, "but Mr Bruce Wayne has just left. If you will leave your name, sir --"  
  
The only answer was an abrupt click of a telephone receiver. The club employee made a notation of the unknown call and its time and placed the slip in Bruce Wayne's box.  
  
Five minutes later, the same employee answered another call. This one was for Police Commissioner James Gordon, who was a member of the Templeton Club and spent most of his spare time there.  
  
The employee said that Gordon was in the grillroom. But before he could start to summon the commissioner, the speaker gave a message.  
  
This call, like the other, had an abrupt finish. The employee hurried down to the grillroom, found Gordon concluding a late dinner. The commissioner was a brusque man, who became much annoyed when interrupted while eating. But the message was important.  
  
"I don't know who it was, sir," said the employee, "but he said it was urgent. He said that there was danger of a robbery at the home of a man that Mr Wayne was going to visit. The caller said the home is occupied by a man named Edward Nigma."  
  
"Edward Nigma!" exclaimed Gordon, bounding up from the table. "Why, that's the Riddler! The caller said they he's the man that Bruce Wayne was going to see this evening?! But Wayne probably knows nothing of the danger. I wonder --" Pausing, Gordon suddenly snapped, "Was it Wayne who called?"  
  
The employee didn't think so. There had been a similar call for Bruce Wayne, earlier, but with no message. He wasn't sure that the voices were the same.  
  
Perplexed, he admitted that the second caller could have been Bruce Wayne. By then, Gordon had heard enough.  
  
"Either a friend of Bruce's," decided the commissioner, "or an associate at Nigma's. Obviously, the fellow tried to talk to Bruce first, then decided to call me. I'll take care of the matter, right away."  
  
Gordon took care of the matter by going upstairs and putting in a call to headquarters. He spoke to his ace detective, Harvey Bullock, and ordered him to Nigma's, with a tactical squad. Bullock was to wait near the mansion until the commissioner arrived in his official car.  
  
There was a chance that the thing was a hoax. In that case, the laugh would be on Gordon, if he sent a flock of police trooping into a house supposedly occupied by the Riddler.  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne's limousine was rolling on its way to Nigma's. Alfred was driving at moderate speed. In the rear seat, Bruce Wayne was glancing idly from the window.  
  
This evening's schedule seemed to be interesting, from Bruce's point of view. He had been contacted by a man named Edward Nigma -- the real name of the Riddler. He knew that Nigma wanted to interest Bruce Wayne in investing in a chain of jewelry stores that would retail expensive diamonds. But Nigma had not mentioned his preliminary purchase of a quarter million dollars' worth of uncut stones from Jon Daley. Bruce wanted to see what the Riddler's scheme was.  
  
In fact, for the very reasons that the Penguin had given Curly Regal, Bruce supposed that the Riddler would be unable to purchase diamonds until he had closed a deal with Clendon's association.  
  
Bruce Wayne was quite familiar with the operations of the South African diamond syndicate, and knew the tight grip that it held upon the entire trade, from brokers to cutters.  
  
Like his manner, Bruce's face was calm. It was a sharp countenance, masklike, in the passing lights of the avenue. Those lights faded as the big car turned onto the Riddler's street. The very gloom of that forgotten thoroughfare impressed Bruce. He had a peculiar interest in all places of darkness.  
  
Bruce's sharp eyes saw lurkers. They were in doorways across from the Riddler's. There were cars parked in the gloom, with figures crouched behind the wheels. Cars, not of the sort that a diamond dealer's visitors would bring. By the time that Bruce had taken in the scene, the limousine came to a halt in front of the Riddler's rented home.  
  
There was a briefcase in the limousine. Bruce decided to take it with him. It contained papers relative to the chain-store transaction, though Bruce did not actually need the briefcase, it was natural enough for him to bring it along. He had another purpose, however, in carrying the briefcase.  
  
Stepping from the car, Bruce quietly told Alfred to return to the Templeton Club and wait there until called. Then, with a careless saunter, Bruce strolled up the brownstone steps, reaching the top just as the limousine pulled away.  
  
To lurkers across the street, Bruce Wayne was simply an expected visitor at Nigma's. Nevertheless, figures shifted in the gloom, and Bruce noticed them.  
  
He suspected that they were uneasy, that part of their duty was to take care of troublesome strangers. A false move at that time could have proven quite disastrous for Bruce. But he had a way of doing the right thing.  
  
The watchers saw Bruce Wayne's tall form turn toward the door. His hand lifted and pushed at the doorbell button. Turning slightly, Bruce stood as if waiting for someone to answer.  
  
The move was a good one. If intruders were in the house, the ringing of the doorbell would give them warning that someone else had arrived. Across the street, shifting men eased back to cover, waiting to see what happened next.  
  
They had been deceived by Bruce Wayne's move. Actually, he hadn't pushed the doorbell button at all. Holding the briefcase in one hand, he slid his other hand behind him to try the doorknob. He wanted to find out how strong the lock was.  
  
Unless it proved formidable, the tall visitor intended to work on the lock, while faking another ring of the bell. Locks frequently yielded under the persuasive methods of the leisurely Mr Wayne.  
  
More pleased than surprised, Bruce found that the knob turned. The door was not locked. To enter abruptly would have been a bad mistake.  
  
Resting the briefcase on the top step, Bruce freed his hand to fake another push at the bell. At the same time, his hidden hand turned the knob and gave the door an inward swing.  
  
What followed was a bit of perfect acting. Turning, as if surprised, Bruce Wayne gathered up the briefcase with his left hand and thrust his right in through the door, as though returning a welcome.  
  
As he stepped into the vestibule, his foot deftly hooked the door and swung it shut. Thanks to the semidarkness, the lurkers across the way were completely deceived.  
  
Of that huddled band, every man was ready to swear that some person -- probably Edward Nigma -- had opened the door to admit Bruce Wayne, and had closed it after the visitor entered.  
  
In the vestibule, Bruce quickly inverted the briefcase and pulled a hidden zipper that ran along the bottom. The briefcase spread, showing a V-shaped pocket between its two sections.  
  
From that compact space, Bruce produced a cowl, a black cape, and a pair of gauntlets. Closing the briefcase, he placed it behind an umbrella stand in the vestibule.  
  
The speed with which Bruce Wayne took off his civilian clothes and put on those additional garments showed that they were a habitual garb. The lurkers who had let him pass as a harmless visitor would have regretted their oversight, had they witnessed the transformation in the vestibule.  
  
From the top of his cowl to the hem of his black cape, Bruce Wayne looked the part of the personage that he had become: Batman.  
  
During his quick change, Batman peered through the inner door of the vestibule. Past the glass panel, he saw the lower hall, gloomy and deserted.  
  
Beyond was the stairway, dark up to a little landing where the steps turned to reach the second floor. Batman was turning the handle of the inner door, when a slight stir made him pause.  
  
There was blackness on the stairway. It was creeping into the light at the landing. As Batman watched, he observed a singular occurrence. One with which he was quite familiar, though he had never witnessed.  
  
A cloaked shape was moving in the darkness in a most uncanny fashion.  
  
It wore a cowl above the cape. Gloved hands showed in the light.  
  
It actually seemed as though Batman had arrived here ahead of himself!  
  
For the moment the sight amused the Caped Crusader more than it amazed him.  
  
The man above had gone from sight, and the reason for his false garb was as plain as if he had shouted it. The intruder was here for crime, and intended to give it a double edge, by pinning his coming misdeeds upon Batman.  
  
To the real Batman, it was no longer a question of looking in on the Riddler and the others, and warning them of danger. It was a case of dealing with an actual criminal, who would go the limit, under circumstances where he felt himself secure. To a degree, the false Batman was secure. He held an edge upon the being that he impersonated.  
  
This was a change in a plan. Anticipating no trouble, he had intended to play Bruce Wayne's part to the full. A witness to the beginning of an expected crime by the Riddler. Now, he was forced to deal with an impostor, who, externally, at least, was more The Batman than himself.  
  
Dipping his hand to his utility belt, Batman produced what looked to be a small round ball. Batman kept the small ball in his hand.  
  
Batman opened the vestibule door with his other hand and glided forward upon the trail of the caped masquerader who had gone before!  
  
***  
  
Nigma's pebbles lay in a mound at a corner of the desk, a heaping handful worth a quarter of a million dollars. The uncut diamonds had been pushed aside, so that Nigma and Clendon could litter the desk with papers pertaining to their future business.  
  
At present, Nigma's business concerned a bottle of whiskey. He was filling glasses for Clendon and Daley, and the conference was reaching a pivotal stage. Daley was celebrating the successful sale that had paved the way to future business and would square him with the diamond syndicate, should they learn how he had pushed matters. Clendon, in his turn, was more than satisfied.  
  
Though he had promised to promote diamonds to the point of extravagance, Clendon was merely going ahead with plans upon which his association had agreed. Talk of doing things in a big way impressed Nigma, and urged him further with his plans for a nationwide chain of stores.  
  
The three were becoming happier and happier, until Nigma paused suddenly, bottle in hand. Tilting his head, the green-clothed man showed a strained expression, along with a listening attitude. Then he asked, abruptly: "Did you hear it?"  
  
Daley glanced about, as though expecting raps from the ceiling. Clendon gave an alarmed glance toward the window. Nigma placed the bottle on the desk and opened a drawer, to reach for a revolver. He was turning toward Clendon, when he said: "It sounded like someone in the hall --"  
  
Nigma broke off. Clendon was already facing the doorway, his expression frozen. Wheeling, Nigma was about to grip the gun and whip it into sight, when he, too, froze. The revolver slipped from his fumbling fingers, landed in the drawer with a thud.  
  
Like Clendon, the Riddler saw an ominous figure in black. An invader who, by his very costume, could throw a chill into fast-pumping hearts. Daley, swerving about, let his glass slip from his shaky hands and crash upon the floor.  
  
Ape Bundy was learning things about portraying Batman. He was finding out one secret of the black-cloaked fighter's prowess. Ape was witnessing the effect of silence upon three startled men, when that silence was emphasized by a cowl, a black cape, and a bat emblem on his chest.  
  
From the way the trio cowered, Ape understood his own fear of Batman.  
  
Pleased with his new power, Ape took a few steps into the room. No need to use the whisper yet. He'd rely on it if anyone squawked when he fisted the uncut diamonds.  
  
One man tightened as Ape approached. The man was Edward "the Riddler" Nigma, owner of the diamonds. Startled at first, Nigma was again thinking of himself in a jail cell. He was to be the loser. Therefore he was the man most likely to turn bold.  
  
Besides, he had a gun in the drawer beside his knee, a weapon that Ape Bundy hadn't seen.  
  
Nevertheless, the crook centered on the Riddler. For a long moment, hidden eyes met steely ones of blue. Then came the thing that ended the Riddler's momentary defiance. It was a laugh, high and giggly, that issued from the lips of Nigma. The Riddler sagged shakily back from the desk.  
  
Clendon and Daley were surprised by the laugh from Nigma's lips. It was a sinister, mocking laugh in its high tone. It gave new realism to the masquerade that was occurring in the room. The laugh seemed to shiver its echoes from every cranny of the room.  
  
During slow-ticked seconds, it still seemed that the Riddler had laughed, because Ape had gone rigid in his garb of black. Then, with a sudden gesture, Ape dispelled the illusion entirely.  
  
Gaining new nerve because of his black attire, the masquerader took a quick step forward, then swung about in a rapid, but clumsy, wheel.  
  
With the move, Ape let a smile come across his lips. Three gaping men saw the apish features under the cowl. The Riddler knew instinctively that the face didn't belong to his old nemesis.  
  
An instant later, Nigma had proof that he was right, for Ape, in his turnabout, gave them a full view of another shape beyond.  
  
The men in the room saw two Batmen, and there was no mistaking the real one. Even though Ape was the right physical size, the clumsy gorilla no longer looked the part that he was trying to pretend. Ape had gone hoodlum, giving his game away.  
  
Ape was going to do what other crooks had tried. He intended to defeat Batman, and he had the tools to do it. Coming about with his gun, he needed only an instant's notice to locate his adversary and cut loose. But Ape didn't get the instant he required.  
  
Batman was springing forward as Ape swung. The Caped Crusader immediately slammed down the small ball he held in his hand. There suddenly was a blast that rivaled any that a gun could produce. There was a flash of flame that produced a puff of pungent smoke, along with the echoes of the sharp report.  
  
Ape reeled backward, momentarily dazzled by the brilliance. Batman had tossed down a flash-bang pellet.  
  
Ape didn't like it. Nor did he relish the thing that followed.  
  
Batman's swift hands landed like clamps on Ape's wrists, shoving the crook's arms high and wide. Ape felt his gun slipping under the twisty pressure that numbed his hands. He tugged the trigger, as a last resort.  
  
The .45 went flying. The gun seemed to shoot itself right out of Ape's clutch, which, to a degree, it did. Coupled with Batman's twist, the recoil of the big automatic provided a kick that Ape could not stop. Then the brawny gorilla was in Batman's complete clutch.  
  
Frantically, Ape tried to claw away hands that had shifted from his wrists to his throat. Two Batmen went grappling toward the door, kicking the gun that had bounced in that direction. Of the pair, Ape was putting up the greater fuss, because he was trying to get free.  
  
The startled witnesses did not grasp the situation. That was why they came to aid Batman.  
  
First, Daley, who was nearest. His attack was bare-handed, and he nearly mixed his Batmen as he thrust himself into the melee. Next, Clendon, bringing the whiskey bottle for a bludgeon. He picked Ape's head correctly, but missed it with his clumsy swings.  
  
Finally, the Riddler came with his revolver. He was the coolest of the three, and could have inserted a telling shot, if everything had not gone wrong when he arrived.  
  
Ape had profited by the interference. Unable to get Batman's hands loose from his throat, Ape shoved one big paw sideward and grabbed Daley by the neck. With the other fist, he snatched the whiskey bottle from Clendon and swung it at Batman's head.  
  
It took a contortionist's twist on Batman's part to escape that desperate stroke. The bottle left Ape's hand as it skimmed Batman's head, and found Clendon's fat stomach, doubling the jeweler in a heap.  
  
Then Ape was free from Batman's clutch. In staggery fashion, the masquerader reached for the gun and snatched it from the floor. Batman dived for cover.  
  
The Riddler had stumbled into Clendon, was trying again to tell which Batman was which, when the two lunged for the doorway.  
  
Ape was trying to get away. Batman was hoping to block him. Trapped between them, Daley added to the mix-up. The three went through the doorway in a mass; both the cloaked fighters were slugging with their fists, parrying like fencers across Daley's shoulders.  
  
The grapple carried to the stairs. By then, Daley had dropped out of it. Bowling over the edge, Batman and Ape Bundy did not stop when they reached the landing. A double blur of whirling black, they went bounding down to the floor below. The Riddler was scarcely out of the study when he saw their take-off from the landing.  
  
Batman wanted the human gorilla as a living trophy, to learn more about Ape's masquerade. The tumble, instead of ruining Batman's purpose, really bettered it. Batman saw to it that Ape took the heavy bumps as they went downward.  
  
When they hit the lower floor, Ape struck first. Batman, releasing him, did a roll beyond, then came to hands and knees, expecting to see Ape lying limp. Instead, Ape was on his feet, reeling toward the darkened living room on the other side of the hall.  
  
The cowl was jammed hard down over Ape's eyes, proof that his head had taken most of the thumping on the steps. Considering the stoutness of Ape's skull, it wasn't surprising that the Big Baboon had found his feet.  
  
Ape still had his gun, but didn't seem to know how to use it. He nearly toppled when he staggered into the living room. Gathering a hold on one of the doorway curtains, he managed to pull himself about.  
  
By then, Batman was springing back to the corner of the steps. He was about to call for the crook's surrender, when there was a crash from the vestibule. Lurkers outside had heard the gunfire and were coming through. As they shoved the inner door ahead of them, Batman saw a number of revolvers.  
  
The Dark Knight sprang forward to meet the crooks. As he came, he jabbed his finger toward the curtains where Ape's gun was wavering into sight.  
  
Batman mouthed an incoherent snarl that would have suited Ape. It sounded like a plea for assistance.  
  
Six in number, the crooks turned and opened full blast at the curtains. From the way the Masked Manhunter had pointed, the crooks had an idea that they were dealing with another mob, and they acted accordingly.  
  
Amid that gunfire, Batman wheeled toward the stairs, confident that he would have a new vantage point by the time the mobsters learned of their mistake. That was why the Caped Crusader happened to be looking up the stairway, to see the menace that confronted him.  
  
The Riddler was on the landing, aiming point-blank with his gun, and Batman was his target. The Dark Knight's clever ruse had proved a boomerang.  
  
Very logically, the Riddler was aiming at the caped fighter who had given the high sign to the crooks. The climax, if the Riddler provided it, would be death to the real Caped Crusader, not the false. The Prince of Puzzlers was about to shoot the old nemesis who had saved his diamonds from the clutches of Ape Bundy!  
  
Batman wasn't thinking about the Riddler's diamonds at that moment. His one idea was self-preservation, and he took heroic measures toward it. Five feet short of the stairway, the Masked Manhunter made a headlong pitch for the bottom step, landing there as the Riddler's first shots whined above his head.  
  
Striking shoulder first, Batman took a sideward roll. The man dressed in green moved forward from the landing and trained his gun straight down the steps themselves, aiming for a figure that he thought he had already clipped. The Riddler pumped two more bullets. Then paused, astonishment on his face.  
  
There was no one at the bottom of the stairs! Like a wraith of living smoke, Batman had vanished, following his dive, as though the solid floor had swallowed him!  
  
To be continued ... 


	12. The Man Who Knew

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 12 - THE MAN WHO KNEW  
  
Criminals heard the shots from the stairway. They came like echoes after the barrage that had riddled Ape Bundy. While some of the gunmen were starting to see how many dead men lay beyond the living-room curtains, others turned toward the stairs.  
  
The Riddler was still on the landing, staring at his revolver, then glancing blankly at the bottom of the steps. Twice, he thought, he had clipped his black-cloaked foe, each time with two bullets. First, before that figure had dived and again, after it had landed.  
  
It didn't dawn on him that Batman had gone ahead of those shots by split seconds, any more than the Riddler could understand what had become of the crimefighter who, by simple logic, should have been the ugly-faced marauder, Ape Bundy.  
  
Again gazing below, the Riddler saw crooks facing him. They looked at him wondering what to do. "Look for Batman," ordered the criminal mastermind. The crooks started to do as they were ordered when a strange sound stopped some of them in their tracks. It came from some untraceable depths, the throbbing quiver of a high-pitched sinister laugh that they knew too well. It was more than a taunt. The mirth carried challenge. The laugh of the Riddler!  
  
The thug crew had only thought in terms of one Batman, the wrong one, Ape Bundy. That made the Caped Crusader's presence all the more impossible, but there was no disputing the fact that he was here.  
  
They stared at the stairway, wondering if Batman had somehow melted into the shadows of darkness that lay there. They turned toward the living room, where they could hear the gleeful calls of crooks.  
  
"We got The Batman! Take a look, you guys --"  
  
The crooks in the hall didn't want to take a look. They were making for the front door, when their pals overtook them and dragged them to the tattered curtains. There, the astonished thugs saw the bullet-riddled figure of a caped crimefighter, and stared, more amazed than ever.  
  
Again, the laugh throbbed. Its quiver rose to a shivery pitch, then banished itself with ghoulish echoes. Batman was lying dead and the Riddler was laughing at his apparent triumph.  
  
It didn't make sense, until a thug tugged at the cowl that was clamped tight to the dead man's head. Ape Bundy's hideous face came into the glow of a flashlight that a crook supplied. Realizing that two Batmen had been on the ground, and that one -- their real foe -- still remained, the whole crew sprang out into the hall.  
  
Thinking that he might actually be still alive, the crooks moved between the front door and the stairway, to hold rapid council.  
  
Had any of that tribe seen Batman escape the Riddler's fire, they might have guessed the Masked Manhunter's present whereabouts. The floor hadn't swallowed Batman. The answer to his disappearance had been a sideward roll, so rapid that he had literally faded into darkness before the Riddler knew it.  
  
The landing hadn't been a good place from which to witness that rapid twist. Batman had carried himself past the post at the bottom of the banister, then taken a straight dive into the depths of the rear hall.  
  
Later, crooks had flashed their lights into that hallway without seeing Batman. They simply hadn't estimated the size of a short alcove that ran beneath the shelter of the stairs. Fronted by the blocky table, that space was hard to see with flashlights. It terminated at the door of the closet beneath the stairs, and the crooks had mistaken that door for a solid panel.  
  
The Gotham Goliath was allowing two options. Both poor choices, whichever the crooks took.  
  
They could clear out and take to their cars. Or they could prowl the rear hall, searching deeper for Batman, which would mean a surprise attack at close range.  
  
The crew decided to prowl. Hearing their cautious moves in his direction, Batman reached for the knob of the closet door. The crooks hadn't noticed the door before. Their first detection of it would come when the Caped Crusader chose to fling it open in their faces and drive into their midst.  
  
For the present, Batman was easing the door carefully, as he needed only a narrow space to enter.  
  
Then came the surprise attack. sooner than Batman expected it, for the attack was not his own. It was directed against him, almost from the rear. The Dark Knight was only half turned toward the closet as the door yielded. Impelled by pressure from the other side, the door shot wide. A swooping figure came lunging forward, downward, hurling its hands ahead, straight for Batman's crouched shoulders!  
  
Wheeling, Batman was struck by a force that almost flattened him. Fighting off arms that had the rigid feel of steel rods, he was caught in the glare of the first flashlight that the crooks supplied. They had heard the clatter from the closet and were coming to learn its cause.  
  
Almost buried beneath his new antagonist, Batman saw the man's face and recognized it. It was the face of the henchman "Whitey." Like his name, White's face was white, except for blood that flecked his lips. His eyes were bulging, with a glassy shine that gave a beadlike sparkle to the light. White was dead, which explained the stony weight of his lunging body. He had been murdered, stowed away, his body held in place by the closed door, prior to Ape's trip up to the Riddler's study!  
  
Those things shot home to Batman in a single flash, as he was tightening his muscles for a mighty heave. Then, his arms under White's unbending knees, the Masked Manhunter gave the needed lunge that pitched the dead henchman into a long sprawl, as realistic as his topple from the closet.  
  
The gunner's didn't see Batman. The flashlight had not been close enough to the floor. They cut loose with their guns, and Whitey was their target.  
  
While the crooks were loading the dead henchman with a lot of extra lead, Batman rolled over beside the wall and came up to hands and knees, bringing the table with him.  
  
A crook yelled, as Batman swung the heavy missile. The others ducked the table as it struck. They were spreading, shooting wildly as they went.  
  
He had put the crooks at a disadvantage and meant to make the most of it, when he was saved the trouble. Another shout came from the vestibule, where two of the scattering thugs had retreated. With the howls of the crooks, Batman heard the blast of new guns.  
  
Detective Harvey Bullock had arrived with a tactical squad. They had stopped outside, too late to hear the sounds of the first fray. Before the shooting had been reported, the new fight had begun. Reaching the scene, Bullock and his men didn't stop to argue. They saw only thugs, so they fired everywhere.  
  
In fact, Batman had to take another quick dive to escape the bullets of his friends, the police. By the time Detective Bullock reached the rear hall, the place was empty. Three of the crooks were flat. The rest were scudding through the living room, with detectives in pursuit.  
  
There was a crash of a window, followed by a tumult of shots delivered from the police. Howls sounded outside the window, then died. In the sudden lull that followed, Bullock thought he heard the slam of a distant back door. Starting in that direction, he reached a lighted kitchen. There, he stopped.  
  
The light showed Detective Harvey Bullock as a stocky man, with swarthy features that wore a poker-faced expression. A gleam came to the ace detective's dark eyes.  
  
Bullock had very definite recollections of a certain personage known as Batman. The detective was quite sure that he knew who had gone out by the back door. It was just as well that he didn't include the detail in his report.  
  
Commissioner Gordon, at that moment, was arriving out front in his official car. Finding no detectives about, he hesitated before going indoors.  
  
A taxi wheeled up. Gordon stared at it suspiciously, he saw his friend Bruce Wayne alight from it. Telling the driver to wait, Bruce gave a surprised stare at Gordon, who returned it.  
  
"Hello, Bruce," began the commissioner. "I thought you came here quite awhile ago."  
  
"I started awhile ago," replied Bruce Wayne, calmly, "but the limousine did not prove as reliable as I expected. So I changed to a cab. Alfred is taking the limo to a service center to be looked at."  
  
Bruce did not add that he had changed to the cab by way of the Riddler's house, and that the cab had been only a few streets away when he found it.  
  
Conversation ended when Bullock appeared at the Riddler's front door. Accompanying the commissioner, Bruce entered the house.  
  
Inside the door, Gordon stopped in horror when he saw a caped form that detectives had dragged from the living room. Bullock grinned.  
  
"Don't worry, commissioner," said the detective. "This isn't Batman. The guy is phony, a crook like the rest of them. The real Batman fixed these fellows for us."  
  
Bullock's mention of a real Batman was justified. Daley and Clendon had come downstairs. Both of them were voicing their story of two Batmen, and crediting the real one with having forestalled robbery by the false.  
  
During that verbal outpour, two members of the police tactical squad found a bullet-riddled figure that didn't seem to belong among the criminals. They turned the man's face into the light and pointed. Seeing the victim's features, Clendon exclaimed: "It's Mr White! He must have tried to stop them. Poor White." Clendon turned to Daley. "I fancy that we misjudged him. He was loyal, after all."  
  
While Daley nodded, Clendon simply stared at White's body. Though Daley said nothing, it was evident to the observant Bruce Wayne that Daley was picturing a part that White might have played, other than a loyal one. But Daley, it seemed, was quite willing to let the law form its own theories.  
  
As for Bruce Wayne, he was considering another factor: the actual time of Whitey's death. Among the bullets in the henchman's body was one that had been dispatched beforehand, and it marked the end of White.  
  
The law took it that criminals had entered by the living-room window through which they had attempted a later exit. Bruce, however, remembered the unlocked front door. If White had answered a ring of the bell, the men upstairs would also have heard it. Therefore, one answer was logical.  
  
White was in the crooked game. He was the man who had let Ape Bundy enter. White was a man who knew the facts of crime, and someone had decided that the henchman knew too much. As a reward for services to crooks who had bribed him, White had received death.  
  
To Bruce Wayne, the case indicated the craft of a supercriminal -- a master hand whose goal was greater than tonight's attempt. This was not the Riddler's work. It didn't match his modus operandi. There was another brain who used double-crossers like White, and then disposed of them, was the sort of antagonist who could tax Batman to the full!  
  
Detective Bullock liked to play hunches. He had one regarding White. He wondered how the man had gotten mixed in a battle between Batman and a band of crooked raiders. As a consequence, Bullock quizzed Clendon and Daley regarding White.  
  
Clendon mentioned his suspicions of White, and Daley added his testimony. Though they felt that White's death should clear their name from blemish, Bullock did not agree with them. The detective was reasoning along Batman's lines, but he lacked the facts to back it up.  
  
There was one damaging point against White, he was apparently in the employ of the Riddler. The "associate," as Clendon and Daley called him, wasn't supposed to be in the house this evening. Still, they didn't know that "Mr Nigma," as Daley and Clendon identified the Riddler, hadn't actually heard the order for him to leave when giving him his night off.  
  
Thus, the one point was debatable. As for the matter of the unlocked front door, which Batman knew about, Bullock passed over it entirely, assuming that crooks had unbarred the door after entering by the window. Lacking evidence of White's early death, Bullock was definitely handicapped, and let his hunch subside, in consequence.  
  
Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne was debating whether or not Ape Bundy had murdered White. Considering that Ape's main job had been to get the uncut diamonds, the thing was something of a mystery. Again, Bruce had strong evidence of hidden hands at work, with Ape figuring simply as a more important tool.  
  
In fact, Batman was forming some unusual conclusions regarding Ape's part, when his chain of thought was interrupted by the voice of Commissioner Gordon. Not only was the commissioner denouncing Bullock's hunches -- he was telling the detective to forget White entirely.  
  
"This man is more important." Gordon was pointing to Ape's crumpled form. "This hoodlum chose to masquerade as Batman. We must find out who he is, Bullock."  
  
Finding out wasn't very easy. Ape's face was actually uglier in death than in life. His misguided pals had blasted most of it away with their concentrated fire. Detectives were quizzing some of the wounded thugs, demanding to know who the phony Batman was. The prisoners claimed they didn't know.  
  
How much they did know, was a question. Bullock intended to quiz them later. For the present, he saw an easier way to establish the identity of the dead masquerader.  
  
"Have Forensics fingerprint the guy," Bullock told another detective. "Hop down to headquarters and get an identification. Whatever his mug used to look like, we'll find it in the rogues' gallery."  
  
"His face was very ugly," declared Clendon. "I saw it when he was fighting Batman up in the study. Unfortunately, I didn't see it later when I looked downstairs."  
  
Bullock asked, "Did you ever see his face before?"  
  
Clendon shook his head. He repeated that the face was ugly and coarse- featured.  
  
It was Daley who inserted a further description. "I saw a face like it once," declared Daley, blandly. "But not in Gotham City."  
  
"Where did you see it?" demanded Bullock.  
  
"In Capetown, South Africa," smiled Daley. "The face was on an orangutan at the zoo."  
  
Bullock didn't appreciate the jest, until he remembered that an orangutan was a member of the monkey family. Stooping, he snatched up one of the ungloved hands that a detective was fingerprinting and observed the thickly haired wrist above it.  
  
That, plus the dead man's blocky shoulders and stooped huddle, was enough for Bullock. He exclaimed: "This guy's the Big Baboon!"  
  
Talk of orangutans and baboons annoyed Gordon. He thought that Bullock was carrying Daley's jest too far, and said so.  
  
Bullock promptly explained himself. "It's a nickname," said Harvey. "He's better known as Ape Bundy. He works for Curly Regal, and that's enough for us. Whatever Ape Bundy ever did, Curly Regal was in back of it."  
  
"Then Regal planned this robbery!"  
  
"That's it, commissioner," nodded Bullock. "It fits, too. We've been figuring that Curly would set himself up as a big-shot, with his gambling racket gone bust. What's more, we know right where we can find Curly Regal."  
  
Assembling his squad, Bullock started for Regal's apartment house. About to follow, Commissioner Gordon saw Bruce Wayne getting into the waiting cab, carrying a briefcase that Gordon hadn't noticed before. The commissioner called for his friend to come along with him.  
  
Nodding through the window of the closed cab door, Bruce was rapidly stuffing black garments into the secret partition of his briefcase.  
  
Though Gordon's invitation meant that he would have to travel solely as Bruce Wayne, Batman preferred it. He wanted a chance to see what happened at Regal's.  
  
When they reached the apartment house, Bullock was already waiting in the entry, two detectives with him. Bullock was about to display his technique, and wanted Gordon to witness it.  
  
Harvey's method was blunt but effective. He simply pressed the button that bore Regal's name, and when Curly's voice answered, Bullock responded in a pleased growl. "H'lo, Curly," he mouthed. "It's Ape. I got what you wanted. All okay."  
  
Up in his apartment, Curly Regal pressed the switch that unlocked the lower entrance. Opening the door of the apartment, he left it ajar and strolled to his favorite lounging chair, to await Ape's arrival. The telephone began to ring. Curly let it continue, intending to have Ape answer it.  
  
Then, as the ringing persisted, Curly decided to answer the telephone himself. He heard the voice of the Penguin, low but excited across the wire.  
  
"I'm over at Ninety-nine," informed the Penguin. "The word's around that Ape Bundy tangled with the police over at the Riddler's and was polished off. They say that Harvey Bullock is on the case --"  
  
Curly waited to hear no more. He slammed the telephone down and sprang to the table that contained the locked drawer from which he had produced Ape's guns.  
  
Finding something that he wanted, Curly shoved it beneath his coat and started for the front door of the apartment. Before Curly could slam the door, a man sprang into sight from the hallway.  
  
It was Harvey Bullock, ahead of the detectives. The big detective had a drawn revolver. He shoved it into the doorway, along with his foot, as the door was slamming shut.  
  
Recoiling, Curly made a rapid dash across the living room, toward the rear exit.  
  
Shouting for the big-shot to halt, Bullock aimed his revolver and started after him. Harvey paused, halfway through the doorway, as Curly came about, his hands half raised.  
  
One fist, Curly's right, had come from beneath his coat. The hand in question was just out of sight. Bullock did not notice its quick jerk in his direction.  
  
Other eyes caught the move. Bruce Wayne had arrived, along with the detectives. He couldn't see Curly's fist, but he glimpsed the betraying poke of the crook's elbow. With a double-jointed twist, Bruce's figure shot through the doorway, half beyond Bullock, and came full about in the same agile motion.  
  
As he twisted, Bruce grabbed the doorknob. Driving shoulder first, he bowled Bullock out into the hall and carried the door shut as he went.  
  
Gordon shouted angrily, thinking that Bruce Wayne had overstepped his bounds. But Bullock, floundering backward, had seen something that explained the action of the commissioner's friend.  
  
Curly's fist had jerked into sight, releasing a roundish object that could only be a grenade. The "pineapple" was well on its way as Bruce Wayne whipped the door shut. Bruce's yank was a race against Curly's throw, and there wasn't much distance to spare.  
  
For an instant, it seemed certain that the grenade would reach the diving figures in the hallway. Then the edge of the door sliced in between and blocked the murderous weapon.  
  
The grenade struck the door as it slammed. Along with a big blast, the grenade was gone and so was most of the door. Curly Regal liked plenty of juice in his pineapples, as the result proved.  
  
The explosion not only blew in the door, it shattered the frame of the doorway and bit big chunks from the wall. Flat on the floor of the hall, Bruce Wayne and Harvey Bullock were showered with splintered debris. Their double dive was all that saved them.  
  
Reaching their feet, Bruce and Bullock joined the others. By then, Curly Regal was gone. The big-shot hadn't waited to witness the devastation. He was on his way, through a rear door, even before the grenade had struck.  
  
Curly Regal, the big-shot in back of Ape Bundy, had made his escape. Crafty enough to have some hideout ready for such emergency as this, Curly probably intended to stay at large and perpetrate new crimes, whenever possible.  
  
Such was Gordon's opinion. He expressed it, glumly, to his friend Bruce Wayne as they rode back to the Templeton Club in the official car.  
  
After the commissioner had beefed sufficiently to soothe his ire, Bruce put a question. "It was rather odd, commissioner," came the calm-toned voice of Bruce Wayne, "that Curly Regal should have learned so suddenly that we were on the way up to his apartment, instead of Ape Bundy. I doubt that Regal is in the habit of carrying grenades in his pocket."  
  
"Great Scott, you're right!" exclaimed Gordon. "Someone must have tipped Regal off at the last moment. I'll inquire into it."  
  
The commissioner called Clendon's house, where he talked with Clendon, as well as with the detectives who had remained at the Riddler's house. All agreed that no one could have used the telephone. That there was no way the news of Ape's death could have leaked out.  
  
Commissioner Gordon was deeply puzzled. He remembered the telephone calls that had come to the Templeton Club earlier, and mentioned them. First, a call to Bruce Wayne, its purpose unmentioned. Then one to Gordon, the tip- off that trouble was due at Nigma's.  
  
The commissioner looked sharply at his friend while mentioning the second call. He was wondering again if Bruce Wayne could have been responsible for it.  
  
But Bruce's maskish face was inscrutable. If he knew anything, he did not state it.  
  
It happened that Batman was tracing further back. He was picturing an earlier call, one that White could have made to Curly Regal, telling the big-shot that Daley had brought the uncut diamonds to the Riddler's. Such a call would have accounted for the arrival of Ape Bundy, but it didn't explain other events.  
  
Just how the later phone calls fitted, was still a question. They were pieces of a puzzle, and more fragments would be required to complete the whole. One thing, however, was certain. Those calls meant other factors in the game.  
  
Curly Regal, the fugitive big-shot, had not developed his schemes alone. Someone had plotted with him, and cross purposes were at work. Tracing back along the chain might prove difficult and slow. But, in a sense, it wasn't necessary.  
  
New links would come, along with future crime. Correctly, Batman divined that tonight's failure was but one step in the crooked game. Batman's problem belonged to the future, not to the past.  
  
Diamonds were the objective. They offered opportunity for coming robberies on a larger scale than Ape's attempt. When such stakes were again available, criminals would strike.  
  
Batman, too, had plans. Along with the glitter of the wealth they sought, men of crime could expect to find their nemesis in black: The Caped Crusader of Gotham City! 


	13. Moves At Dusk

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 13 - MOVES AT DUSK  
  
The attempted robbery at the Riddler's produced one important result, it made Gotham City diamond-conscious. Clendon had agreed that he and his associates would spend large sums of money for publicity, and their campaign was started before they realized it.  
  
Newspapers ran photographs of the uncut diamonds, and the public was intrigued to learn that a handful of such "pebbles" could be worth a quarter million in cash. Clendon's associates immediately began to emphasize that cut and finished stones were valued even higher.  
  
Such rare gems, they announced, would soon be on public display, on a scale so lavish that it would rival the fanciful stories of the "Arabian Nights." The Gotham City jewelers were going right ahead with their promised diamond shows, to be held at the very fashionable Hotel Gotham.  
  
After the shock of learning that Edward Nigma was in fact the infamous master-criminal known as the Riddler, the diamond sellers turned to a new man who came on the scene, seemingly out of nowhere. His name was Mushy Nebuchadnezzer, the burnoose wearing former boxing champion of southwest Asia. Nebuchadnezzer was said to be very rich.  
  
The new investor met with Clendon and Daley and agreed to organize the original idea that was put forth by Nigma for a chain-store system, which was to bear the distinctive title "House of Nebuchadnezzer." Both a financier and a promoter, Nebuchadnezzer was putting up the quarter million represented by his uncut diamonds and encouraging other investors to buy stock to a total of a million dollars, as an initial issue.  
  
Since this meant that Nebuchadnezzer would no longer hold the controlling interest in the chain system, he was very careful in his choice of investors. He concentrated upon men who were both wealthy and reliable, among them Bruce Wayne. As a result, Batman was present at important conferences which concerned the coming diamond shows.  
  
So far, no money was involved. The House of Nebuchadnezzer was ready for incorporation, but waiting until the Gotham City jewelers showed their stuff. Thus the conferences were dominated by Clendon, who boasted that the first show would have six million dollars' worth of the finest diamonds on exhibit.  
  
The fact interested Batman. It meant something which the others did not seem to foresee -- namely that crime would have an opportunity far greater than the thwarted robbery of the Riddler's uncut stones. The reason why crime's chance was overlooked was because strict measures were being taken to protect the diamonds.  
  
But Batman was working on the definite assumption that crime had not ended with the flight of Curly Regal.  
  
It was certain that Curly was in the game. But Batman was confident that there were other hands, and clever ones. The clue was the death of White. The henchman wasn't the sort of spy that Curly would have planted at the Riddler's, though the police chose to think so. White's death had been necessary to cover up someone else.  
  
Whatever his suspicions, Batman, so far, had no proof of certain facts he needed. Batman had Oracle conduct a background check on White. Some interesting facts came to light as a result of Barbara Gordon's computer probe. White had worked for several wealthy persons. None had prompted him to seek the job with Nigma. The question was: who had given White that idea?  
  
It might have been Curly Regal, but Batman did not think so. With only two days to go before the first diamond show, Batman was still following the same course as the law -- trying to locate Curly Regal, on the chance that the fugitive big-shot might at least provide some facts.  
  
At the final conference, late that afternoon, Bruce Wayne chatted briefly with Jon Daley. The South African had very little to say. He expressed worry over other problems. One of his jobs was that of organizing the diamond cutters, getting them working on an efficient basis. It was giving Daley some trouble, and he preferred that others should bother about the diamond shows.  
  
***  
  
There was one man that Batman should had known about: The Penguin.  
  
On the same afternoon that Bruce Wayne chatted with Daley, the Penguin had business elsewhere. Riding in a very swanky car, the society criminal parked near Ninety-sixth Street and took a stroll on foot. He came to a small but well-kept apartment house and rang a bell that bore no name.  
  
Announcing himself to the cautious voice that answered, the Penguin went upstairs and was admitted into an apartment by Curly Regal.  
  
Though small, Curly's hideout was lavish -- much like his former apartment -- but on a miniature scale. He was living in the place alone, trusting none of his usual pals.  
  
Curly was in a snarly mood. He admitted that his present plight was his own fault and that he owed the Penguin much for having tipped him off to trouble, the other night. But Curly didn't like hiding out. He wanted results in a hurry, and said so.  
  
"You can't hurry this thing," argued the Penguin. "Here, read the evening newspaper, my fine, fellow, fink, and you'll see why. It tells all about the diamond show, day after tomorrow."  
  
Curly read a few paragraphs, then chucked the newspaper aside.  
  
"It's tied up tight," he growled. "With Bullock and a bunch of coppers on the job, how are you going to grab any of the rocks? Those sparklers will be worn by society dames, and the bulls will be watching the place from every angle."  
  
"I'm taking a couple of picked men," reminded the Penguin. "Chaps from the list you gave me. None of them is wanted. They look like real society men. With my coaching --"  
  
"They'll get nowhere," interjected Curly. "The best way is to get a mob and hijack the sparklers on their way into the hotel."  
  
The Penguin shook his head. "I'll get the diamonds," he promised suavely, "but there's a little job that will have to be done first. Let me take another look at the newspaper, Curly."  
  
Curly reclaimed the newspaper and handed it over. The Penguin studied the photographs of the super models who were to appear at the diamond show wearing special gowns designed to go along with the gems. He was particularly interested in certain faces, which he classed as types. Most of the females were girls that the Penguin knew, but it didn't impress Curly.  
  
"Forget those dolls," snarled the big-shot. "Tell me about the job you mentioned."  
  
"I'll give you the details later," promised the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas. "For the present, what I need is a chap who can stage a good bluff. Some fellow who is neither a hoodlum nor a smoothie. One who would look like a police detective. You probably know a lot who would do, Curly. But, remember, you're wanted, and the police are probably checking on most of your associates. So name me one who isn't likely to be connected with you, but who will do whatever you say."  
  
The assignment wasn't easy, but Curly finally fulfilled it. Referring to a little address book, he said: "Get Bob Holbert. You won't have to see him. Call him up at this number and ask him if he's heard from Artie. It's a password we used at the gambling joint in Miami, to tell right guys from phonies. When Bob says yes, tell him what you want and that I say it's okay."  
  
The Penguin was jotting down the number. Finished, he glanced at his watch and turned toward the door. Curly gripped him by the arm and demanded: "What is it that you want with Bob?"  
  
"He'll never know," chuckled the Penguin, "but that's the best part of it. Of course, he'll know what he's to do, because I'll tell him that much. But the rest of it -- well, I'll give you the whole story when I get back. Keep that newspaper handy, so we can check something with it. I'll have to work quickly, Curly."  
  
***  
  
A quarter hour after The Penguin's departure from Curly's hideout, Bob Holbert received the telephone call. Bob was a chunky, wise-faced man. He spent most of his time in a side-street poolroom, which happened to be the place where he received the Black Bird of Prey's call.  
  
After recognizing the countersign, Bob had a chat with The Penguin over the phone. Bob corroborated Curly's belief. He assured the master criminal that no police were watching him.  
  
From then on, arrangements were rapid. Bob paid his share of the pool game, put his cue in the rack, and left the place.  
  
On a nearby rooftop, Bob didn't notice a figure that was watching the front door of the poolroom. The wind caught the observer's black cape with yellow on the inside. The figure took up Holbert's trail. Dusk had settled. Bob didn't observe the silent trailer.  
  
Bob's first stop was a corner pawnshop, which he entered after looking over items displayed in the window. From there, he went to a cigar store and made a call from a pay phone.  
  
The mysterious figure resumed the trail, on each occasion. When Bob reached a subway station and paused to look about, the trailer made a rapid duck beyond the kiosk and again escaped detection.  
  
As soon as Bob had gone down the steps, the other figure followed him. Bob went through a turnstile. The trailer merely jumped the turnstile silent and unseen. Holbert entered a subway train. The young trailer took a seat on the outside top of the car.  
  
Holding on to the top of the subway car, the follower of Holbert quickly peered through a window to see where his quarry was.  
  
There was a grin on Bob's choppy face. He had proven to his own satisfaction that the police were not watching him. They hadn't an idea that Holbert was a friend of Curly Regal. But Bob unwisely took it for granted that what the police did not know no one else could. Holbert should have remembered the Dark Knight of Gotham City.  
  
The World's Greatest Detective had computer files that the law would have envied. He had gone over them thoroughly, in the case of Curly Regal. The known friends of the ex-gambler were numerous. Batman had left it to the law to check up on them. He had taken on the surveillance of Curly's additional friends, the few that the law had never linked with the big- shot.  
  
One of those chosen few was Bob Holbert. In a way, he was the most select of the lot. Batman had assigned his most capable trailer to observe Holbert. The figure riding on top of the subway car was Robin, the Boy Wonder.  
  
When it came to following a trail unnoticed, Robin had only one superior, Batman himself. From the moment that Bob Holbert set out to keep his rendezvous with The Penguin, it was a certainty that Robin would arrive at the same destination.  
  
Moves had come at dusk. Whatever their purpose, they had a bearing on coming crime, as Batman soon would know!  
  
Holbert's destination was a shabby, dumpy office building on a little-traveled street. Pausing in front of the place, Bob studied it with practiced eye, then brought out a cigar that he had bought in the tobacco store, broke it in half and threw one end away.  
  
He lighted what remained of the cigar, much to the puzzlement of Robin, who had sidled in between two parked cars. Seeing Holbert enter the building puffing at a half cigar, the Boy Wonder crossed the street and found a dark gangway between an old barber shop and an insurance office.  
  
The youthful hero seemed to speak into the air. "Oracle," he whispered.  
  
"Go R," the female voice replied into his earphone.  
  
Robin gave brief details concerning Bob Holbert, and was told to continue his surveillance.  
  
Trying to get closer to his target, Robin found that one of the parked cars had pulled away from in front of the building. So he decided it was best to stay where he was in the gangway between the two buildings. Though not as close as he would had liked to be, the hiding place enabled him to see the building entrance across the street perfectly.  
  
In guessing that Holbert intended to meet someone, Robin was correct. The trouble was that Bob had already met the expected persons. They had arrived in the building ahead of him.  
  
Three men were waiting on a stairway, one was The Penguin, the others were well-dressed individuals who looked quite as smooth as the society criminal. They happened to be a pair of confidence men that the Black Bird of Prey had chosen from Curly's list.  
  
The three smiled when they saw Holbert, particularly because of the cigar, which was nearly out and had an end that looked like a mushroom.  
  
Holbert gave a return grin, and rolled the cigar toward the side of his face. From his pocket he brought a detective's badge, that he had bought in the pawnshop, and pinned it to his belt. Pushing back one side of his sport coat and resting a hand on his hip, Bob displayed the badge and gruffed: "How about it? Do I make a good cop?"  
  
"Perfect!" returned The Penguin. "Come on, Mr Holbert. We've got our job waiting, on the third floor."  
  
The group reached an office that bore no name. The Penguin rapped on the door with the handle of his umbrella. It was opened by a baldish man in shirt sleeves, whose face was long, droopy-lipped and squinty-eyed.  
  
The bald man might have accepted The Penguin as a visitor, but he happened to spot Holbert in the rear of the group. He tried to slam the door and duck back into the office, but The Penguin inserted a quick foot. The door didn't slam. it merely damaged one of The Penguin's patent-leather shoes.  
  
"Quack, squak, quack! You're Stephen Helk," accused The Penguin, waddling into the dilapidated office. "We're from the Better Business Bureau, and we've come to look into the movie-star racket that you've been running."  
  
Helk had flopped into a rickety swivel chair in front of a desk. The desk was piled with letters. Behind it was an old filing cabinet, a drawer half open. The Penguin could see a stack of photographs in the cabinet drawer.  
  
"You can't do this!" snarled Helk, suddenly. "This is a legitimate business, not a racket!"  
  
"Tell that to the judge," growled Holbert, as he pushed past The Penguin and the others. "I'm from headquarters, and that's where I'm taking you! Let's go."  
  
Helk began to mouth something about a warrant, but it made no dent on Holbert. He pulled Helk's coat from a rack, tossed it to the fellow and told him to put it on. All the while, Bob was flashing his badge, and he added another glitter, in the form of handcuffs that he had also bought in the pawnshop.  
  
By then, Helk's tune had completely changed. He was trying to argue that the racket wasn't his and that he was merely hired by Ajax Producers, as he called the business, to conduct a legitimate contest.  
  
"Maybe the outfit is phony," pleaded Helk, "but I'm not. I've only been here a few weeks --"  
  
"Because you've been on the lam, dear man," interrupted The Penguin. "We know all about you, Helk. How you use a post office box as an address and change offices so fast that you can't even catch up with yourself. We know your name isn't on your letterhead" -- The Penguin was picking up a sheet of Helk's stationery -- "but that's because you can't afford to risk it. You've kept a few jumps ahead of the postal inspectors, but you stayed too long in Gotham City. Our bureau is equipped to deal with fine, finny, finks like you."  
  
Holbert gave The Penguin's words cold emphasis by slapping one bracelet of the handcuffs on Helk's wrist and locking the other to his own. Chewing on his stumpy cigar, he hauled the fake movie producer out into the hall. The Penguin closed the door, and turned to find his two slick companions laughing.  
  
"Snap out of it," ordered The Penguin. "We've got to get busy. Use those clippings that I gave you, while we go through the files. Lay your cameras over on that table in the corner. We probably won't need them. But lay them carefully."  
  
The Penguin's minions complied. Both were carrying boxes that looked like cameras, a fact which had impressed Helk, along with Holbert's impersonation of a police detective. With The Penguin at the desk, the others dug into the filing cabinet, handing their leader stacks of photographs.  
  
Outside, Robin experienced new amazement when he saw Holbert and Helk come from the building, handcuffed together. He knew Bob to be a crook, and surmised that the fellow had walked into trouble. By rights, Helk should have been the detective and Holbert the prisoner.  
  
Robin expected Batman at any minute. He knew that the Masked Manhunter was coming with the Batmobile.  
  
It would be easy for Robin to trail this odd pair and contact Batman while he was cruising the vicinity, which it would be, if the Caped Crusader did not find the Boy Wonder at the building. But before Robin could emerge from the gangway, he received another surprise.  
  
Instead of passing a dilapidated automobile that Robin had hidden between only a short while earlier, Holbert entered it, dragging Helk with him. Unlocking his half of the handcuffs, Bob attached the loose link to the steering wheel.  
  
Poking his head from the gangway, Robin peered through the car window and saw the two men. He could hear Holbert's growls interspersed with Helk's whines. Unfortunately, Helk's name wasn't mentioned. The youthful observer learned simply that Bob, posing as a detective, was taking a droopy-faced man to police headquarters.  
  
At least, so Holbert said. But Robin knew well enough that the trip would wind up somewhere else. As the car started, the Boy Wonder moved closer.  
  
To his elation, he saw the Batmobile swinging in from the corner. Coming up like a jack-in-the-box, Robin gave a quick beckon, then dropped out of sight back into the gangway.  
  
On his comm-link, Robin said, "Target is in the car I pointed out."  
  
Batman had caught Robin's signal and acknowledged on the secure radio channel. The Caped Crusader decided to take up the trail that the Boy Wonder had found for him.  
  
As Holbert and his prisoner drove away, the Batmobile made a quick stop and Robin jumped into the front passenger seat next to his mentor.  
  
On the Batmobile's command panel, Batman pressed a button and Robin heard a pneumatic "WHOOSH" emanate from the rolling arsenal. From a concealed barrel on the front of the Batmobile, the Dark Knight had fired a homing transmitter equipped with a tiny microphone at Holbert's automobile. The tiny device struck and affixed itself at the top of the car's rear window.  
  
Things were happening in the car ahead of them that even Robin did not know about. His tone less growly, Holbert was talking to Helk. The fake detective had an offer for his prisoner, which he put in confidential style.  
  
"I'm no stooge," began Holbert, "but you'd think I was, the way headquarters sent me up here. Helping a bunch of stuffed shirts put a guy like you out of business isn't my line, Helk."  
  
Helk licked his lips. He was getting some comfort out of Holbert's statement. Maybe things weren't going to go as badly as Helk had thought.  
  
"Kind of tough, driving with a guy hooked to the wheel," continued Holbert, as he swung the corner. "Maybe we'd do better without these bracelets."  
  
Slackening the car, he released the handcuffs. Then, as he drove toward an avenue, Holbert added: "You know, Helk, if I had something important to do, like counting fifty bucks, I'd be too busy to watch where you went, if you hopped out of this car."  
  
There was a sharp change in Helk's expression. He caught the inference -- that Holbert would give him freedom for fifty dollars. But Helk understood more. He recognized that Bob was as much a con man as he was. This was a fake arrest and Holbert wanted to be rid of him.  
  
Then and there, Helk made the same mistake as Holbert. Like the fake detective, the droopy man overplayed his game. Knowing that Bob was anxious to get rid of him, Helk queried: "Would you settle for twenty-five?"  
  
There was an immediate change in Holbert's expression. The car was swinging into the avenue, Bob didn't see the trailing Batmobile, for it was around the corner. What he did see was a truck, parked on the avenue.  
  
It belonged to the set-up, just like the dilapidated car that had been planted in front of Helk's building to await Holbert's use.  
  
"Twenty-five?" queried Holbert. He let his hand ease from the door and give a beckoning motion. "Sure. Slip me the dough."  
  
Helk slipped it.  
  
Holbert was peering in the mirror. He saw the truck in motion, overtaking the car. The Batmobile came around the corner.  
  
"There's a traffic cop at the corner," Holbert said. "I don't want him to spot this. Get started, Helk. Beat it!"  
  
Holbert had reached across to yank the handle of the door on Helk's side of the car. As he finished his statement, he gave Helk a quick shove. Thinking that Bob was just putting up a final part of the bluff, Helk decided to let him get away with it. Under Holbert's shove, Helk jumped to the street.  
  
Robin looked on in horror. Helk was a goner. He didn't travel far when he jumped from the car. Robin heard a shriek, the roar of the truck. The scream was from Helk's throat, not from the truck's brakes.  
  
Slashing close to the side of the automobile, the truck found Helk squarely in its path and mowed him down before he could dart for the curb or return to the car that he had left.  
  
Robin saw the figure go flying, like a thing of straw. Hurled twenty feet, Helk struck and rolled over in the street. While his battered body was still spinning, the truck went after him like a hungry monster and crushed him to a human mash beneath its heavy wheels.  
  
The traffic officer saw the murder, but had no chance to stop it. The truck was out for double death, the policeman to be its next victim. With the officer dead, there would be no witness to the tragedy. The cover-up crooks who were in the truck would be on their way, unidentified.  
  
Nothing, it seemed, could have saved the officer from death. Even if a car had tried to block the massive truck, it would have simply been hurled ahead upon the helpless officer. But where a direct block would have been futile, an angle attack succeeded. Another vehicle was on the scene: the Batmobile.  
  
It had whizzed past the other side of Holbert's car. It was cutting in to meet the truck, at the point of a V. Nosing in at high speed, the nearly invulnerable Batmobile's fender bumped the truck in the vicinity of the big front wheels.  
  
The truck veered, partly from the driver's instinctive reaction, partly from the blow that the Batmobile imparted. The incredible car bounced away like a skittish toy, and Batman deliberately threw it into a wild skid in the opposite direction. The truck was skimming the curb on one side of the avenue. The Batmobile was playing hopscotch on the opposite sidewalk.  
  
But between the two, as safe as if he had been on a traffic island, was the astonished policeman who, moments before, had been faced by immediate doom.  
  
Already, guns were at work. Bullets were bouncing off the Batmobile. The lead pellets richocheted harmlessly from the heavily armored black vehicle.  
  
Because there were innocent pedestrians around, Batman held off from firing a Bat-rocket at the truck.  
  
Crooks were leaping to the street, firing revolvers as they went, anxious to battle the occupants in the mysterious vehicle that seemed to be impervious to harm.  
  
However, deep in their dark souls, the evildoers, who moments before had run down a defenseless man in cold blood, knew that they could expect no mercy from the champion of justice who opposed them.  
  
Only one man drove an incredible black car like that in Gotham City. They knew they were up against ... Batman!  
  
To be continued ... 


	14. The Fiery Barrier

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 14 - THE FIERY BARRIER  
  
Odds meant nothing to Batman at a moment like this. He wanted battle. The quicker it came the better. He knew that Robin had inadvertently led him on the wrong trail and that the real quest lay back in the building where the pursuit had begun.  
  
The quicker the battle, the sooner Batman could settle it. But he wasn't forgetting certain details. There was the traffic officer, in a spot of new danger. Robin, too, was a consideration as he went to fight it out with Bob Holbert.  
  
Flinging the Batmobile door wide, Batman got out of the magnificent vehicle as shots volleyed in his direction. He ducked the shots while on the move. He was moving to a spot where only he would be in danger, drawing fire away from the policeman's direction, as well as that of the halted dilapidated automobile.  
  
Batman was at the curb, directly in back of the half-wrecked truck. Crooks hadn't reached him with their hasty shots. Flanking the truck on both sides, the six killers who formed the crew had a chance to get past the front of the truck and intrench themselves, at the same time keeping an opportunity for flight.  
  
But they didn't choose that plan. They were learning something that they had never guessed. Batman punctured the truck tires with a sharp instrument from his utility belt.  
  
The criminals continued to miss Batman with their gunfire. He was a lone target, moving in a rapid zigzag.  
  
To a man, the six were ready to deal with the Caped Crusader. They weren't worried about themselves. They simply wanted to get him before he escaped.  
  
Three from each side of the truck, they rounded the vehicle, hot on Batman's trail. But it was a trail no longer. Batman's flight had ended, much shorter than they thought. Full around, Batman was coming straight in their direction.  
  
Razor-sharp, lightweight, Mini-Batarangs were thrown at the attackers like ninja Shurikens. While, perhaps, lacking the stopping power of heavier Batarangs, these weapons were painful deterrents.  
  
Even more amazing was Batman was throwing himself into the path of aim of the six-man firing squad!  
  
Each stride Batman took was making it easier for those marksmen, but the Caped Crusader's Mini-Batarangs were making it harder. He was throwing weapons ahead of him, and they were scoring from the first moment. The two foremost crooks fired. They were staggering when they pulled their triggers. Jerked high, their guns sizzled meaningless slugs above Batman's head.  
  
Others fired, but they were diving for shelter as they did. They missed, too, by feet, not inches. The Batarangs seemed to pick them automatically. They were ducking past the truck, hoping to get away before those deadly devices struck them. One crouched crook held his ground. He bobbed up suddenly, to take point-blank aim at the caped foe who was only a dozen feet away.  
  
As the gunman rose, Batman dived. A bullet slicked the top of his cowl. Striking the ground on one shoulder, the Dark Knight looked like a sure victim for the crook's next shot. But the shot never came. Batman's other hand threw a small pellet toward the gunman.  
  
The pellet hit the ground and there was an immediate flash of bright light and a loud "BANG!" that startled the foe. More pellets were thrown and the battlefield became even more confusing with the addition of smoke seeming to be everywhere.  
  
The thug who thought he might be the one to take out Batman was rewarded with two big feet to his face as the Gotham Avenger leveled him with a drop kick. The man caved back against the truck and floundered, losing his useless gun as he fell.  
  
By then, the traffic officer who approached the chaotic scene began shooting from behind a nearby mailbox. He dropped one killer who was trying to scurry away. Flat on the ground, Batman crawled beneath the truck and clipped the legs of another criminal and knocked him out with a punch to the face. A third was making for Holbert's car. He was dropped by a sudden telescoping Bo staff blow the the back of the head.  
  
Robin had taken care of the final marksman. He was free of Holbert. Bob, who was not used to fighting, had been no problem for the Boy Wonder.  
  
But Holbert's cranium was apparently very thick. Bob was staggering blindly, shooting his gun in every direction but the right one. From across the street, it looked as if he had aimed for Batman, and the traffic officer saw it. Considering Holbert as dangerous as the others, the policeman gave him three bullets in a row.  
  
Two went wide. The third found the fake detective's heart. Bob Holbert was dead, which was unfortunate. Just as White could have furnished a trail that other night, Holbert was the one man who could have talked on this occasion. Following the finish of the gunfire, Batman felt a note of grim regret.  
  
When the officer looked for Batman, the avenger in black was gone. So startling was his disapperance that the cop actually believed The Masked Manhunter had faded into nothingness before his eyes. Batman had a habit of making such departures. Even Robin blinked, though he had seen it happen before.  
  
The engine of the Batmobile revved to life and the incredible car took off down the street.  
  
Robin quickly made himself scarce by taking to a nearby rooftop.  
  
As approaching sirens broke the still night air, the traffic officer was the only one left to gather the dead and wounded crooks and picked up of what little remained of Stephen Helk.  
  
Looking down from the rooftop of a five-story commercial building, Robin knew what was coming -- numerous police cars and ambulances would arrive and the traffic officer would long be telling the tale of a man in a black cape who had dematerialized himself like a puff of smoke. Robin moved from rooftop to rooftop that offered him a path to obscurity.  
  
***  
  
While the battle Batman fought raged, The Penguin was finishing his job of ransacking Helk's office. The Black Bird of Prey was quacking smoothly to the con men who worked with him.  
  
"More pictures, Rendy," he told one. "Check on those mailing lists" -- he was swinging to the other - "and make it swift, Wallingham. Ah!" The Penguin drew a photograph from the pile that Rendy handed him. "Here's a pretty young thing of the exact type that we want. Look her up in the list, Wallingham - B-868. That makes four already, but we'd better have more. Sometimes photographs lie, though these look pretty good. Here's another young lady, better than any yet. T-91. Get the information on her, Wallingham, and we'll call it quits. If I know my own eyesight" -- he studied the photograph by the desk lamp -- "Miss T-91 will fill the bill."  
  
Rendy leaned over from the filing cabinet and listened at the window. He was a smooth-looking fellow, a bit oily in manner, and when he wrinkled his forehead and set his lips, his face went hard. Wallingham noted Rendy and became alert. Wallingham's face, off guard, showed shrewdness that resembled a rat's expression.  
  
"What's up?" demanded The Penguin. "Hear anything?"  
  
"Thought I heard gunshots," returned Rendy, "but now it's sirens. Maybe that guy Holbert got caught. He struck me as pretty dumb, except for his front."  
  
The Penguin stepped to the window and listened. Next, he began to dump photographs from the filing cabinet. He told Wallingham to take the wastebaskets, fill them with letters and carry them out to the stairs.  
  
"Take along your camera, Wally," added The Penguin. Then, with a chuckle: "You know how to work it. Set the thing that says time exposure, then press the shutter gadget. Come on, Rendy, get your camera, too, and help me pile this stuff on it."  
  
The "camera" was soon set in the middle of a pile of papers and photographs. The Penguin set one knob, then clicked the shutter. He commented, "Three minutes." Then, picking up the chosen photos and the data that went with them, he bustled Rendy out into the hall.  
  
Wallingham was at the stairs. He had the contents of the wastebasket dumped upon the "camera" box. The Penguin told him to hurry it, and Wallingham pressed the shutter switch. His thumb was in motion when the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas snarled, "Hold it!"  
  
Wallingham had forgotten the timing gadget, and The Penguin was too late to stop him. However, the "Hold it!" saved Wallingham. He made a rapid dive in the Black Bird of Prey's direction. An instant later, the so-called "camera" showed what it really was: an incendiary bomb.  
  
The thing went off with a muffled puff that threw up a display of fireworks. There was plenty of magnesium powder in it, and the stuff produced a blinding brilliance.  
  
Wallingham was turned away from it. Rendy was throwing his arm over his eyes, like The Penguin. Thus they missed the flash that would have temporarily incapacitated them.  
  
Oil was spattering. The letters and wastebaskets were ablaze. There was another jet of flame, reddish in hue, that lighted up the hall. In the midst of that hiss and splutter, with fire shooting in all directions, The Penguin gave a frantic snarl. He was pointing to the stairway. The others saw the thing he indicated.  
  
It was a figure in black -- one that no crook could fail to recognize. Batman was on the stairs, dropping back to a landing, a short way below. In one hand, he was holding one end of his cape over his eyes.  
  
A dozen seconds more, Batman, returning from one bout with a batch of crooks, would have been upon this smooth trio, ready to handle them in similar fashion. The only thing that had saved The Penguin and his minions was Wallingham's slip-up with the time device on the firebomb!  
  
The thing had served the crooks far better than they intended. The mistake had been luck of the first order. The bomb had flashed just as Batman rounded the turn in the stairs. He had been late in covering his eyes against the magnesium flare.  
  
Not only had Batman been too blinded to spot the faces of The Penguin and his companions -- the Caped Crusader was temporarily helpless!  
  
The Penguin's snarl wasn't anything like his ordinarily quacking tone. The master criminal was cocking his gun umbrella and ordered his men to do the same. The tone hardened, as The Penguin ordered: "Get him! It's Batman! Give him all the bullets you've got!"  
  
There was another flash and a bang in the stairway -- this time it was Batman's doing. The Flash/Bang pellet caused the criminals to shoot blindly, but with near accuracy. Batman had heard The Penguin's voice and was making the most of it. Three criminals went diving along the hall, past Helk's office.  
  
It took both luck and speed for them to get clear, and behind them they could hear the sound of Batman coming after them. There was an exit to a fire escape at the end of the hall, and the fugitives needed it.  
  
They were shooting at Batman as they ran, but their fire was frantic. The Dark Knight was coming through the flames at the head of the stairs. Quick with the cape, he had suffered less from the magnesium light than the crooks supposed.  
  
He could see them partially, like kaleidoscopic figures. Not well enough to identify them, but he knew The Penguin's voice.  
  
The fugitives needed more luck, and they had it. As Batman came through the rising fire and paused clear of the smoke, the other bomb went off in Helk's office. The Penguin had planted it much better than the one at the stairs. The thing literally ripped apart, vomiting liquid fire like the mouth of a volcano.  
  
Again, Batman was bothered by the brilliance, though it was around the corner of the doorway. The thugs, looking back from the fire escape, received the same effect. Blinking, they groped for the fire escape and stumbled downward. Their fear of the Gotham Goliath spurred them to breakneck efforts.  
  
As Batman's vision cleared again, he found himself surrounded by fire, with billows of stifling smoke blotting the whole scene. His path to the stairs was cut off by a fierce conflagration behind him. Ahead, a regular holocaust was sweeping from the door of Helk's doomed office.  
  
Wheeling, Batman drove straight into a circling mass of flame and seemed to leap upward with the spouting fire. He was taking the stairway that led upward, a continuation of the steps from below. It was his only path, and he gained it just in time.  
  
On the next floor, Batman paused long enough to beat out flames that were smoldering on his cape. That done, he did not bother with the fire escape. The crooks had by this time reached the ground.  
  
To head off his foes, Batman made for the roof. From that vantage point, he saw the fugitives scrambling into a car parked on the next street. The glow of the fire showed them only vaguely. There was no identifying the men with The Penguin or their car.  
  
The car was away, past a jutting building. Nothing he could do about it now.  
  
The fire department, reaching the scene, found the old building in a mass of flames. It was a condemned firetrap, and promised them a battle. While they were pushing a ladder to the roof, one firefighter gave a startled call to the others. There, atop the building, they saw a fantastic creature that might have been the spirit of the flames.  
  
A shape cloaked in black was weaving through hungry tongues of fire into a mass of billowing smoke. Like a human salamander, the figure evaded the scorching effect of the fire. Batman, with the aid of his Nomex-reinforced costume, was sidestepping the dangerous spots, but to the observers it looked as though he had picked the thick of the holocaust.  
  
They watched the smoke, those firefighters, as a sweeping breeze dispelled it.  
  
The gaseous clouds cleared away, leaving a stretch of roof that had a flame-reddened background. That was all. There was no sign of the uncanny figure that seemed to dwell in the fire itself.  
  
A chunk of roof caved into the gorging flames below. They thought for the moment that the fire creature must have fallen with it, into the devouring pit. But near the fire escape, like a phoenix, the incredible creature of the night stood at his full height for a moment ... and then was gone!  
  
***  
  
The Penguin had complimented Stephen Helk on his ability as a law dodger. The compliment was deserved. Though Helk was identified after his death, neither Batman nor the police were able to trace his most recent activities.  
  
Previously, Helk had been selling fake oil stock, but that racket had gone bust and Helk had disappeared. No one, except The Penguin, had tagged him as the hidden head of a cheap racket that operated under the name of Ajax Producers.  
  
By setting fire to Helk's office, The Penguin had covered up the evidence long enough to stretch over the next two days, which was what he chiefly wanted. Thus, the Black Bird of Prey's racket was still an unsolved riddle on the night of the diamond show.  
  
The great event began with all the promised fanfare. Early in the evening, the grand lobby of the Hotel Gotham was flooded with beautiful women, who were to appear as models and display the diamonds. Cameramen were taking pictures over each other's shoulders as fast as the girls arrived.  
  
Alan Clendon was in charge of the arrangements, with Mushy Nebuchadnezzer a member of the committee. Among others in the lobby was Bruce Wayne, and he noticed Jon Daley in the offing.  
  
The diamond seller displayed a rather cynical attitude, as if he thought the show should be considered unimportant. Daley was interested in the raw product, diamonds in the rough, rather than the finished variety. At least, such was the impression that he gave.  
  
Most photographed among the super models was Cynthia Crawford, whose own vast fortune, reckoned at about twenty million, entitled her to wear the most diamonds.  
  
Cynthia was a striking brunette, with dark eyes and features molded to roundish perfection. She looked very lovely, even without the four million in diamonds that she was to display.  
  
The diamonds were to come later. At present, the models were being assigned to suites in the hotel, where they could try on their special costumes. When they arrived in the Skyview Salons, on the upper floors of the hotel, the gems would be waiting.  
  
Clendon, portly and affable, wasn't at all nervous this evening. As for Nebuchadnezzer, the deep lines had faded from his bearded face, and he seemed youthful despite his gray hair. Both men explained their mood while riding up in the elevator with Bruce Wayne.  
  
"There's nothing to worry about," declared Clendon. "Detective Bullock is on duty, with a squad of thirty detectives. If a single finger is lifted toward a diamond, an arrest will follow."  
  
"The commissioner is here, too," added Nebuchadnezzer. "The situation is doubly safe. I have great confidence in Commissioner Gordon."  
  
Bruce Wayne gave an obliging nod, as though he appreciated the approval that Nebuchadnezzer, a foreigner, had given his friend. From a corner of the elevator, Daley gave one of his short laughs. He didn't look as bland as usual tonight, and the laugh seemed forced.  
  
Nebuchadnezzer gave him an anxious look. "What's the trouble, Mr Daley?"  
  
"He's worrying about the diamond cutters," said Clendon to Nebuchadnezzer. "Daley has to make all the arrangements for them. Living quarters, working hours, and what not. You know, Mushy, diamond cutters are artists and therefore inclined to be temperamental."  
  
Daley inserted a shrug at that point, and abruptly changed the topic. He took a sudden interest in the diamond show, asking how many persons had been invited. Clendon said about two hundred and that all were persons of high social standing.  
  
"We invited a select group," he stated, "and gave them the privilege of bringing friends. Still, we are taking no chances. You will understand, when we reach the salons."  
  
The salons were two rooms, one above the other. The elevators went to both, but the car stopped at the lower one. Bruce Wayne and his companions entered a large room, with detectives watching them from the moment that they stepped off the elevator. The room was ornately furnished, and in one corner was a small band. Beyond it, a curtained platform.  
  
Boxes had been brought in and were jutting out from behind the curtain. Clendon explained that they contained special scenery, which would be used in the platform display at the end of the evening.  
  
"There are the diamonds," Clendon said as he pointed to a bulky safe that was guarded by detectives. "And the models will be given the gems that they are to wear after they arrive here - not before."  
  
Some of the female models were coming into the salon. Members of the jewelers association were bedecking them with diamonds. After that, the girls strolled around, chatting with their friends. A few of them went to a little elevator at the back of the salon. Bruce observed that Harvey Bullock was in charge of the elevator.  
  
"The elevator," explained Clendon, "runs from this floor to the one above. Since it is the key position that covers both salons, Detective Bullock has chosen the elevator as his post."  
  
Bruce was looking for someone among the sleek society men who were present. He finally spied a young man whose clean-cut appearance marked him as something other than a lounge lizard. It happened, however, that the young man was his former ward.  
  
Dick Grayson was perfect for this assignment. Bruce was sure that he would prove to be useful. He had come to the diamond show on an invitation forwarded from Bruce Wayne. Seeing Bruce, Dick came over and shook hands.  
  
As the two civilain-attired heroes chatted in a corner, near a table that had a telephone, Bruce undertoned questions in his calm style.  
  
He wanted to know if Dick had been to the salon above, and the younger man nodded. When questioned regarding the persons on the upper floor, Dick stated that they were on a par with those in this salon. Dick had seen plenty of society men, most of them a glossy sort, and there had not been any among them who looked like professional crooks.  
  
Dick added that the commissioner was upstairs. Evidently, Gordon was satisfied that Clendon's committee could handle the distribution of the jewels in the lower salon, while he remained above, to make sure that all was safe in that quarter.  
  
Looking over the scene, Bruce told Dick to go upstairs and then added calmly: "Stay in touch over the comm-link, so that we can keep in constant communication."  
  
Dick went up in the little elevator with Bullock, while Bruce turned to watch the parade of super models. It was really quite a spectacle. The glamourous girls had turned out in force for the occasion, and they were all smiles and glitter. Most of the gowns ranged from rose to wine color, and the diamonds had been distributed according to the varying hues.  
  
Bruce watched a few million dollars' worth go by, in the shape of necklaces, rings, and brooches. There were yellow diamonds; trimmed with red gold; blue diamonds, in platinum settings; other varieties that the committee members kindly classified for the benefit of onlookers.  
  
A buzz began as the star of the evening entered. Clad in simple black, Cynthia Crawford stepped from the elevator and smiled as she reached the committee. She was promptly adorned with the choicest of the diamonds, a galaxy of gems valued at close to four million dollars, which had been reserved for her arrival.  
  
Cynthia's graceful finger received a fifty-carat champagne diamond. Her wrist was girded by a bracelet that sparkled with thick-clustered gems. The earrings that she put on were mere baubles valued at two hundred thousand dollars each, because of the perfectly matched diamonds that hung from each lobe.  
  
While a committee member was fastening a half-million-dollar anklet to the model's trim ankle, Clendon produced the greatest prize of all, the celebrated Durban Diamond, that rated well above one hundred carats. It was a magnificent stone, the size of a small egg, and it was set in a simple pendant.  
  
Hung from Cynthia's neck, the Durban Diamond had the black gown as a background and made a show in itself. In fact, the gem parade depended upon the Durban Diamond, which was valued somewhere around two million dollars.  
  
It was rumored that some day the Durban might be cut into lesser stones, each a magnificent diamond in itself, if it found no takers at its present price.  
  
Therefore, all eyes were on the famous gem. Everyone wanted to remember it and boast, in years to come, of having seen it intact. Among those who studied the diamond was Bruce Wayne. He was thinking what the Durban could mean to any master criminal who conspired to steal it.  
  
Two million dollars, as good as ready made. Sliced into parts, the Durban Diamond could be peddled sectionally for its full value. It wouldn't have to be fenced through the usual channels. In fact, it couldn't be. Disposing of that diamond would be as simple a task as stealing it, if the criminal chose a wise opportunity.  
  
At present, however, Cynthia Crawford was unlikely to lose the Durban Diamond, unless an earthquake struck Gotham City. Smiling much more affably than usual, the brunette strolled about the salon, showing all the diamonds, and particularly the Durban, to everyone who wanted to see them.  
  
Viewers kept a respectful distance, except for the detectives. They were almost at Cynthia's elbows, but she didn't seem to mind them. Her pose brought a slight smile to Bruce's lips. He had heard that Cynthia Crawford was a very sought after woman.  
  
When Cynthia arrived near the elevator, the detectives left her with Bullock, who was standing by. The last of the models were arriving, and the detectives were needed back by the safe. Most of the guests flocked over to see the rest of the diamonds, and Bruce expected Cynthia to be uncomfortable, but she wasn't.  
  
Columnists and the celebrity news programs, not that Bruce ever watched them, had been remarking lately that Cynthia's beauty was greater than ever. There were other brunettes who resembled her, had even been mistaken for the wealthy super model. Probably Cynthia Crawford had decided to outshine her competitors by using charm along with beauty.  
  
Bruce saw her enter the elevator with Bullock. The door closed and the little car started upward. Bruce turned toward a wall and whispered over his open microphone, "The big one is coming your way, Wing."  
  
"Boss? You gotta a minute?" Bruce heard a feminine voice come over his earphone. It was Oracle.  
  
"Go ahead," he whispered, still facing the wall.  
  
"I've done the background check on Helk," stated Barbara Gordon. "He was running Ajax Producers, a fake motion-picture business with a phony movie- star contest. Swindling people who thought they belonged in pictures --"  
  
By then, facts had clicked home to Batman.  
  
He cut her off by saying, "Understood. Send the file to the Batcomputer."  
  
Out of a perfect lull, the present situation had suddenly become a proposition that was made to order for crime.  
  
Something suddenly happened in the corner of the salon that made Bruce turn. A light was blinking above the band. The musicians looked puzzled, for it was the signal to start the platform show.  
  
The signal was coming from upstairs. Who was sending it and why, the musicians did not know, for it was coming much earlier than expected. The leader shrugged, then snapped his fingers.  
  
As the band opened with a chord, an attendant pulled the curtain. Then came a long shriek from the turning spectators.  
  
Over the edge of the platform rolled a girl's figure, bound and gagged. She sprawled headlong into the band, where musicians lifted her and pulled the gag from between her teeth. As arrivals saw the girl's face, the shouts became louder. The girl was in a faint, but that didn't prevent them from recognizing her.  
  
The helpless prisoner was Cynthia Crawford!  
  
That fact, alone, was astonishing enough, but trivial compared to the rest. Cynthia was no longer dressed in black. In fact, she was rather scantily attired, mostly in fluffy pink. Her velvet dress had been taken by her captors.  
  
Other than some men who had little interest in diamonds and were now enjoying a free eyeful of the super model, no one was interested in Cynthia's clothes. They were thinking of other things that she had been wearing -- the diamonds. As far as jewels went, Cynthia was utterly devoid of them. All of her glittering adornments were gone: ring, anklet, bracelet, earrings, even the huge Durban Diamond which had so recently graced the glamourous girl's neck!  
  
Robbery had been staged in the presence of a hundred witnesses, on a gigantic scale. In one swoop, mysterious crooks had garnered a haul of four million dollars in a place that was under the law's complete protection!  
  
How and when the mammoth crime was staged seemed a mystery as great as the deed itself. Yet among those who saw the present plight of Cynthia Crawford was one whose keen mind quickly traced the past.  
  
To Batman, this crime was a paradox, not a mystery. It was a thing that couldn't have happened so suddenly and completely as the situation indicated. Crime's stroke had come, yet it was not finished. The schemes of master criminals could still be frustrated.  
  
Bruce had seen Cynthia take the elevator to the floor above. He had just heard from Oracle and had learned the important link to Helk. His keen insight into the ways of criminals told him the rest.  
  
Minutes, perhaps, remained wherein Batman could still defeat a game which everyone else believed that crime had won!  
  
To be continued ... 


	15. Above And Below

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 15 - ABOVE AND BELOW  
  
Fate could play its tricks, even with Batman. Along with his quick analysis of crime, the Caped Crusader sensed where trouble next was due. He wanted to reach the floor above and he was starting out to the main elevators, when a quicker route opened.  
  
The new route was the little elevator. It had come down from the floor above, and Harvey Bullock was stepping from it, to learn why a lot of people were clustered around the platform with the opened curtain. Seeing the car deserted, Bruce Wayne started for it.  
  
Detectives saw the swift-moving Bruce and sprang after him. One of them yelled, "Stop the tall guy," and a couple of attendants dived in to block Bruce off. He became the center of a milling crowd while excited women shrieked, "There goes the thief!"  
  
Even Bullock was drawn into the stampede that charged toward the little elevator. He couldn't recognize Bruce in the melee, because of so many intervening heads. The scene was clearing, though, thanks to Batman's efforts.  
  
He was flinging attackers right and left, tripping them over one another. Wrenching free of two detectives, he used one as a battering-ram to down the other, and reached the elevator just as Bullock grabbed him.  
  
Bruce didn't wait to argue with Harvey. He hauled the detective into the elevator with him and punched a button. The door closed and the two were starting upward, but only after a costly delay. Measured in cash, the delay amounted to four million dollars.  
  
Upstairs, everything was quiet. Very strangely, Cynthia Crawford was the center of attraction in the upper salon, as well as in the lower. But she wasn't the same Cynthia as the one who had been found bound and gagged.  
  
This Cynthia still wore her full attire of a black gown, trimmed plentifully with diamonds, from anklet to pendant, with ring and bracelet in between, and earrings on the side.  
  
Strolling across the salon, the brunette had given an excellent display of the diamonds. Then, near a front corner of the long room, she had stepped aside to let other models have the floor.  
  
That was something very unusual for Cynthia Crawford, though Dick Grayson did not know it. Dick was busy trying to contact Bruce on the comm-link, but with no result. Taking another look for Cynthia, Dick saw something quite irregular.  
  
One of the main elevators had stopped at this floor. A detective had inspected it, found it empty. A hotel employee gave the detective an envelope, evidently for the police commissioner, for the policeman started in Gordon's direction.  
  
That left the elevator empty and unwatched. At that very moment, Dick saw Cynthia turn in the direction of the main elevator.  
  
The girl was accompanied by a man in evening clothes. Like Cynthia, he had his back turned, so Dick wasn't able to identify him. But it was plain that the two were going to the elevator, which offered them a direct route to the lobby.  
  
As calmly as if she had been wearing a batch of rhinestones, Cynthia Crawford was leaving the diamond show with four million dollars' worth of gems on her person.  
  
Detectives should have noticed the super model's departure, but they didn't. Dick tried his comm-link again.  
  
Suddenly, the detectives began hopping all over the room. Something was afoot.  
  
Dick heard excited shouts, but didn't wait to learn what they were about. Instead, he dashed toward the main elevators, to overtake Cynthia and her escort.  
  
The two were entering the elevator, when Dick arrived. Their backs were still turned, but Dick heard the girl say: "Photographers downstairs? How wonderful! But won't they be surprised, when they learn --"  
  
On impulse, Dick grabbed for Cynthia's arm, intending to bring the girl back from the elevator. Just then, a pair of men in evening clothes came into action.  
  
They looked like a couple of dudes lounging near the elevator, but they proved anything but flabby. They landed on Dick so suddenly that he didn't get a look at them.  
  
Each was a slugger in his own right. They hooked punches to Dick's jaw, caught him as he sagged, and thumped his head against the elevator door as it closed. The thumping took place inside the car, for the pair had bowled Dick inward as they overtook him.  
  
The elevator was on its way down, carrying five people away from the commotion in the upper salon. There, the excitement had reached a fever pitch.  
  
Commissioner Gordon was on his portable police radio, shouting for everyone else to be quiet. He was motioning to the detectives, indicating that he wanted them to round up the models and make sure that all were safe, present, and accounted for. Something had gone wrong in the lower salon.  
  
At that moment, the door of the little elevator slid open. There were two men in the tiny car: Harvey Bullock and the commissioner's friend, billionaire Bruce Wayne. Bullock seemed in an argumentative mood, and Bruce couldn't be bothered. He shoved Bullock aside and sprang out.  
  
Bruce's eyes were searching as they swept the salon. He was looking for two people: Dick Grayson and a girl who resembled Cynthia Crawford. Seeing neither, Bruce took a quick glance toward the main elevators. One had just left and was going down, as indicated by the floor indicator. Another car was coming up. Bruce sped to reach the door when it arrived.  
  
Tacklers were after him, all detectives. Bruce shook them off with elbow jogs, straight arms, and quick side steps that let them lunge into vacancy. A flood of recuperating attackers overtook him at the elevator, Bullock among them.  
  
Harvey still didn't quite know what it was all about, and he left it for Gordon to find out. The commissioner was trying to extricate Bruce from the pile-up, barking senseless questions all the while.  
  
Bruce and the commissioner were back against the elevator door, when it slid wide. With a quick swing, Bruce precipitated the commissioner inside the car. An astonished detective was in the car. When he grabbed for Bruce, the tall man of action whirled him about and drove him headlong at the cluster of previous attackers.  
  
In the same move, the amazing Mr Wayne hooked Bullock as the detective charged and flung him headlong into the elevator, where Harvey sprawled, flattening Gordon. Another detective started to put up a fight. One punch from Bruce settled him.  
  
Taking over the controls, Bruce punched a button and the door slid closed and the car started down leaving an amazed batch of men on the top floor.  
  
One of the flabbergasted detectives had sense enough to grab his radio and called down to the lobby, saying that some crazy man in evening clothes had abducted the police commissioner and his leading detective and was taking them down to the lobby. Another elevator was needed on the top floor, and the detective added that it was wanted right away.  
  
By that time, the first elevator was stopping, not at the lobby but at the mezzanine, a half floor above. The Penguin was coolly explaining matters to the lovely brunette who wore the black gown and the Durban Diamond, with all the other gems.  
  
"We're getting off at the mezzanine," said The Penguin. "We want to talk to the reporters first, the right ones. We'll have to break things gently, you know, when we tell them that you aren't really Cynthia Crawford."  
  
The girl gave a troubled frown.  
  
"Don't worry, my dear" continued The Penguin as the door slid open. "We'll tell them that you are Judith Trexel, winner of the movie contest conducted by Ajax Producers."  
  
Judith began to smile.  
  
"I'd like to meet Miss Crawford later," she said, in a modulated tone. "It was nice of her to let me double for her. And sweet of you to arrange it, Mr Bird."  
  
"Cynthia will get her share of the publicity, young lady," returned The Penguin. "She needed something to keep her in the G-girl class. Glamour fades, unless you keep on boosting it."  
  
Stepping from the elevator, Judith turned. Again her face was troubled, as she saw Rendy and Wallingham propping the unconscious figure of Dick Grayson against a corner of the elevator car.  
  
"But this man?" queried the girl. "What about him?"  
  
"He's some cad who was obviously overtaken by your beauty," returned The Penguin, "who shouldn't have been invited to the show. I'm glad that my friends were on hand to settle him." The Penguin's tone now showed indignation. " Why he may be some thief, trying to steal those diamonds that you're wearing!"  
  
Judith gave a little gasp of alarm.  
  
The Penguin added with a smile: "Don't worry, my dear. We'll look out for you."  
  
A terrific clatter followed The Penguin's statement. The hubbub came from the lobby, which Judith could see below the mezzanine rail. Starting toward the rail, the girl saw a tall man in evening clothes battling with men who wore badges. Bruce's elevator had reached the lobby, to be greeted by a force of waiting detectives.  
  
The detectives had guns, but they weren't shooting. They were merely trying to suppress their lone antagonist, and they were urged to the task by Commissioner Gordon and Detective Bullock. For once, Gordon and Bullock were in thorough accord. Both were convinced that Bruce Wayne had actually gone insane.  
  
His arms pinned in back of him, his coat torn from his shoulders, Bruce made an unusual sight. His hair was ruffled, giving him a fanatical look. The manner in which he bobbed his head added to the impression gotten by those who fought him -- that he was indeed mad.  
  
He was looking for something, and he saw it: the indicator of the elevator next to the one that he had left. Bruce saw the light square on the indicator, making the letter "M," which stood for mezzanine.  
  
Instantly, his eyes went to the rail above. With a mighty heave, that lost him his coat but threw two detectives aside, Bruce freed one arm and gave a sweeping, upward point.  
  
Gordon heard Bruce shout: "Look, commissioner!"  
  
Turning, Gordon saw the mezzanine rail. So did Bullock, who also responded to the call. They were just in time to view a sight that held them: the vision of a girl in black velvet, whose simple costume fairly blazed with resplendent diamonds. Catching the lobby lights, one diamond threw back their reflection with a spotlight's gleam.  
  
The gem was the two million-dollar Durban Diamond!  
  
Like Bruce Wayne, the others saw the face of Cynthia Crawford. How the girl had arrived there, fully clad and adorned with diamonds, was a mystery. A greater one, in fact, than the discovery of Cynthia, bound and gagged, without her gown and gems, upstairs in the salon.  
  
But this case nullified the first. No one stopped to reason that Cynthia must have been overpowered elsewhere in the hotel, before she came to the salon and that she had been brought there, in a scenery box, bound and gagged, while another girl had promenaded as her double.  
  
To all appearances, Cynthia Crawford was back in circulation, and she still had the diamonds. But the hands that suddenly whisked her away from the balcony rail were proof that she and her fortune in diamonds were going elsewhere. Gordon and Bullock were close enough to hear the snarls of The Penguin and his minions, even though they could not see the smooth crooks.  
  
It was Gordon who gave the next shout, as Judith Trexel disappeared from sight. His cry was an order for the detectives to follow him to the mezzanine. In another moment, Bruce Wayne was forgotten, left behind in the rush that started for the stairs.  
  
This time, the law was taking up the pursuit ahead of Batman, but it was the Dark Knight of Gotham City who had pointed the police along the way!  
  
Coming to his feet as the surge of detectives left him, Bruce Wayne was thinking of another person besides the fleeing crooks and the girl who had gone with them. He knew that the police would follow the trail of the diamonds. Therefore, Bruce's concern was Dick Grayson. As definitely as if he had witnessed Dick's capture, Bruce could picture his longtime partner's plight.  
  
From halfway up the stairs, Bruce saw the closing door of the elevator, where a well-dressed man had dodged to avoid the sight of the police. Bruce spied the glitter of a revolver in the man's hand, pointing toward a rear corner of the car.  
  
The man was marking himself a criminal, in league with those who had fled. His target was Dick, and he intended to murder the half-unconscious prisoner as soon as the door was shut. It was closing rapidly, that door, but it couldn't beat the speed of Batman. Bruce thrust his arm into the door and it reopened automatically.  
  
The surprised thug snarled at the apparent interruption of his deadly plan.  
  
Getting a grip of the frame above the elevator entrance, Bruce swung his body up and kicked out into the face of the gunman when the door opened. The man howled from the impact of the blow. The criminal's gun flew to the floor of the mezzanine. The fellow was scrambling to regain it.  
  
Detectives heard the howl. Halting, they did exactly what Bruce didn't want. Seeing the man grab his gun left-handedly, they didn't stop to reason that he was hurt. They opened fire as the crook aimed.  
  
Flayed by the bullets, the man wheeled in staggery fashion and reeled against the low rail. His own weight seemed to jerk him off balance. He took a long pitch toward the marble floor of the lobby, a dozen feet below.  
  
If he wasn't dead before he finished his plunge, the matter was settled when he hit the marble head-on. The crack that his skull gave sounded like an echo of the last gunshot.  
  
As with White and Holbert, a link had been broken. The man was another crook who would never yield a trail to those beyond. The only trail, for Batman as well as the law, lay through a passage in back of the mezzanine, where The Penguin and his sleek pals had taken Judith Trexel.  
  
Passing the detectives who had dealt with the gunman, Bruce saw Dick come weakly from the elevator. He was groggy, so two detectives promptly apprehended him. Bruce didn't wait to see the rest. He knew that Dick could square himself with the law.  
  
Hurrying through the passage, Bruce found a stairway that led to a rear alley. He could hear Gordon shouting, just below.  
  
Jewel thieves had made their getaway in a waiting car, as Bruce learned when he reached the alley. Gordon was ordering for police cars to take up the chase, and detectives were yelling into radios to bring such cars to the scene.  
  
Bruce talked into the air, "Oracle, send the car to the predesignated location."  
  
"On the way, Boss," came the reply in his ear.  
  
Ducking a corner to enter an alley, Bruce found the gleaming black automobile of the Caped Crusader just where he expected it. Changing a channel on his communications device, Bruce merely said, "Door, open."  
  
The driver's side door of the Batmobile popped open on its own accord. Inside the car, Bruce could change into his costume.  
  
The car that had fled was a decoy, carrying Rendy and Wallingham. Back near the hotel, a taxicab was parked in a little trucking entrance, unnoticed by the police. There, The Penguin had thrust Judith into the waiting hands of two hoodlums, and another was at the wheel. The girl hadn't a chance to scream. Her captors had already gagged her.  
  
Coolly, The Penguin was plucking diamonds like berries from a bush. He twisted the earrings from the helpless girl, yanked the two million-dollar pendant with a tug that broke its slender chain. He swept the glittering bracelet from Judith's wrist, caught her other hand and smoothly stripped the fifty-carat ring from her finger.  
  
Judith couldn't reach him with her fists. As The Penguin stepped away the girl kicked frantically. The Black Bird of Prey gave a chuckle as he caught her foot, peeled away her high-heeled shoe and grasped the diamond anklet with his other hand. Sweeping the final decoration from Judith's ankle, The Penguin added it to the collection, and tossed her shoe back into the cab.  
  
"Take it easy, Growdy," he told a man in back. "You know where you're to take her -- back to the apartment where she started from."  
  
The Penguin waddled back into the trucking entry, the spoils of crime stowed in his pocket. Carrying four million dollars in diamonds was very little bother. In fact, the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas seemed more concerned about the cab's departure than his own.  
  
He had cause to be. The cab hadn't gone more than a block before a dangerous looking black car began to trail it, Batman had seen the suspicious-looking cab.  
  
Seeing the cab in question, Batman had decided to follow it rather than search for the missing car, which he suspected as a likely decoy. With the Masked Manhunter on their trail, Growdy and his crew were getting into more trouble than The Penguin had anticipated.  
  
Unfortunately, the Batmobile attracted more attention that one might have wanted. As the chase continued, the whine of sirens told that police cars had spotted the small procession. The cab opened up to a greater speed, proving that it contained hunted men. The Batmobile showed a similar spurt to keep ahead of the police cars.  
  
Letting his rear-seat companion complete the job of gagging Judith, Growdy stood up. The cab was of the opentop variety. The mobsters had chosen that type for such an emergency as the present one. Peering back over the cab roof, Growdy drew a gun. He was ready to use the cab as a traveling fort, if he found the route blocked.  
  
At the next corner, the Batmobile veered away as if it wanted to avoid trouble. The police cars ignored it and took after Growdy's cab, instead. Batman had hoped to draw them off the trail, then get back into the chase somewhere farther along. It happened that the police cars were too close. Their drivers saw what happened, and the bit of strategy failed.  
  
During the next dozen blocks, Growdy's cab was in continual trouble. Guns were talking from the police cars. The range was too long for them to score hits, but they were close enough to be within trailing distance.  
  
The route that the cab took wasn't a straightaway. It dodged into other streets and out again, under the control of a capable driver.  
  
Finally, it found a side street, where the driver yanked it to a halt halfway down the block. Growdy wanted to know why the driver had parked so suddenly.  
  
"I can hear the cops on the next street," the driver told him. "We'd better lay low until they've gone past."  
  
Sirens shrieked from both avenues and kept onward, proving that the driver was correct. Tightening the hold on his gun, Growdy glared toward the street in back. He thought he saw a police car entering the street, then recognized it as a black car stopping in front of an all-night restaurant.  
  
A full minute had passed when Growdy decided to go on. He was just giving the order to the driver when they heard the return wail of the police cars.  
  
"No use, Jeff," Growdy told the driver. "We gotta croak the dame and lam."  
  
"I can run it," argued Jeff. "Besides, we ain't supposed to get rid of the dame."  
  
"Yeah? Who's giving the orders, you or me? The dame don't count, not when we're in a jam like this."  
  
Growdy's rear-seat companion tried to side with Jeff, but the argument made no effect. Growdy insisted that he still had the say and that he intended to blast the girl. One big paw on the door handle, Growdy lowered his revolver with the other and pressed it against Judith's head.  
  
"Get ready, you guys. Here goes!"  
  
It wasn't Growdy's gun that went. It was Growdy himself. Like a bolt from blackness, a tall, caped form arrowed over the cab roof from the trunk and dived headlong through the open top. Gloved hands shot ahead of it. One clamped on Growdy's revolver, the other, swinging a fist of granite that drove a hard stroke to the would-be killer's skull!  
  
His free hand jostling the handle of the door, Growdy pitched out to the street and his caped foe went with him. As they struck the curb and rolled there, Jeff, Judith, and the remaining crook heard a gunshot.  
  
Jeff hoarsed one word, "Batman!" and started the cab forward with a jolt. As the vehicle wheeled out onto the street, other shots sounded from the rear corner. A police car was hot on the trail, prepared to overtake the fleeing cab before it reached the end of the block.  
  
It was then that Batman supplied his strangest strategy. From the curb where he lay sprawled near Growdy, the Caped Crusader hurled Mini-Batarangs along the street level. He didn't choose Jeff's tires as his targets. He picked those of the police car. To the sound of blow-outs, the police car skidded around and wound up on the opposite sidewalk.  
  
Strange strategy, Batman blocking off the law! But it served a vital purpose. Those Batarangs saved the life of Judith Trexel, the girl who lay helpless in the fleeing cab.  
  
Their trail clear, they were free to follow the orders that they felt Growdy should have obeyed. They were taking Judith to the safe spot that The Penguin had ordered. They did not surmise that Batman had preferred to lose the trail, rather than end all opportunity of ever rescuing Judith Trexel.  
  
Batman had not learned who Judith was, nor had he heard any mention of The Penguin's name. But he had caught enough of Growdy's comments to know that the girl would be safe as long as Jeff and the other crook saw an open path ahead. Knowing what they needed, The Dark Knight had delivered it.  
  
Meanwhile, the officers were piling from their car to look for whoever had put them out of the chase. They saw an alley opposite and started for it. The patrolmen remembered the case of Ape Bundy, and thought that they had uncovered another impostor.  
  
A figure swept from the alley and made a zigzag along the sidewalk.  
  
This couldn't be Batman. The officers went after the caped figure. Somewhere along the line, they lost him. He faded from sight, in the Masked Avenger's style, but they decided that luck had served him. The impostor must have ducked somewhere at an opportune moment.  
  
Such seemed certainly the case, for they found a cab driver pointing eagerly from his cab. "He got to the corner!" informed the cabby. "I spotted him when he went around. He was limping. You ought to get him easy!"  
  
The officers footed off on a blind quest.  
  
Unbeknownst to everyone, Batman had backtracked up to the alleyway that the police had ignored after The Masked Manhunter left it. He had only faked the limp when the cabbie spotted him.  
  
Batman dragged the nearly unconscious Growdy into an alley. Gotham's caped avenger propped the prisoner up against a wall in a sitting position. Batman gently shook Growdy and the motion made him mumble something that sounded like the name "Jeff." Batman's voice responded, but it wasn't a whisper. It was rough, testy, much in Jeff's style. A good-enough imitation to deceive Growdy's sinking senses.  
  
"You're okay, Growdy," spoke Batman. "Where do you want us to lug you?"  
  
"Down to Red Mike's," groaned Growdy. "He'll get a doctor to look after me. You know -- Red Mike's. I was going there anyway."  
  
"Sure thing, Growdy! When do you want to hear from us?"  
  
The confused Growdy replied, "Tomorrow night ... like I told you --"  
  
Catching his words, Growdy stiffened. His glazed eyes tried to make out the face that bent above him.  
  
"You ain't Jeff!" panted Growdy. "Jeff ought to be in front ... handling the wheel. You're ... you're --"  
  
Batman interposed. His tone had changed. It was a growling whisper that struck terror in the hearts of criminals.  
  
"I'm the one who gives you orders, Growdy," said Batman. "You remember me, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah. You're ... you're --"  
  
Growdy's gulps stopped his voice. Racked by a spasm of pain, his body writhed and his wits cleared. His eyes must have guessed the meaning of the blackness above him, for he snarled: "Say ... Batman! Wouldn't you like to know --"  
  
It wasn't Batman who interrupted. Another grip had fastened itself on Growdy -- that of death. A shot had rang out from above!  
  
Batman rolled quickly away and dived for cover.  
  
Slumping, Growdy rolled to the ground dead, unable to ever talk again.  
  
No other shots rang out from the unseen assassin. His mission to make sure Growdy didn't divulge too much had been fulfilled.  
  
***  
  
Batman was nearing the Hotel Gotham. To go any closer might mean trouble. Behind a vacant gas station a few blocks away, deft hands were busy stowing the cape, cowl and gauntlets in the Batmobile.  
  
Walking on the sidewalk toward the hotel, the lone man was no longer Batman, he was Bruce Wayne, coatless, as he had left the hotel.  
  
There would be no more trails to follow on this night. Batman would count upon a certain one tomorrow!  
  
To be continued ... 


	16. Crime's Terms

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 16 - CRIME'S TERMS  
  
Excitement still reigned at the Hotel Gotham when Bruce Wayne returned there. Ardent young men were trying to help the police get to the bottom of the robbery.  
  
Bruce's arrival caused a stir. He received congratulations, as he stood in his tattered coat. He put in some good words for Dick Grayson, who by that time had fairly well squared himself. Commissioner Gordon listened to Dick's story, and accepted it.  
  
The facts were simple, as Dick put them. He had seen a girl who looked like Cynthia Crawford stepping into the elevator, still wearing her diamonds. He had tried to stop her, and had been slugged for his pains. Who the sluggers were, Dick had not learned. They had done their job too quickly.  
  
There were three of them. One of them was the Penguin. Nodding agreement, Commissioner Gordon decided that all three must have escaped in the decoy car. Bruce offered no objection to that theory. As far as he knew the facts, the man who served as mainspring of the fancy trio could have gone with the rest.  
  
Still, Bruce was pleased when Gordon decided to quiz the remaining guests. As a preliminary, the commissioner talked to the real Cynthia Crawford, to learn what had happened earlier.  
  
Between hysterics, the glamourous girl gave a very incoherent version of her capture. She remembered only that masked men had overpowered her in the hotel suite, while she had been changing to the black dress that she was to wear at the diamond show.  
  
The police began a check-up of the guests and promptly ran into trouble. The invitations which had allowed persons to bring friends proved the stumbling block. When quizzed, the guests named the friends that they had brought, but there was no way of telling if any of them omitted certain names.  
  
It happened, too, that all of the guests were not upstairs in the salons when the robbery took place. Some had been late for the show, others had left it, while a few had not appeared at all. In the hotel bar, Detective Bullock found a handful of society men who preferred drinks to diamonds, as their condition proved.  
  
For a half-hour, Bullock was treated to the most maudlin lot of alibis that he had ever heard. He felt like sobering up the crowd with a wholesale third degree, but Gordon would not allow it.  
  
These gentlemen belonged to the elite of the city. Gordon was horrified at the idea of turning the social register into a police file. He decided that actual evidence would be needed before accusing any of the blue bloods.  
  
With so many persons absent, others uncertain or in no condition to talk, the situation handicapped Batman as much as the police. In fact, The Caped Crusader could brand the evening's episode as very close to the one thing that he would never admit: namely, failure.  
  
A brain, The Penguin, had plotted supercrime. Batman had been on hand to prevent it. Though Batman had foreseen that crooks might steal a super model, gems and all, gentlemen of crime had carried out their scheme in unexpected style.  
  
It dated back to Helk's office, where they had stolen the files of the fake movie producer and disposed of the man himself.  
  
Out of thousands of photographs, the criminals had easily found one of the Cynthia Crawford type. They had drawn an unknown girl into the game, to double for the real super model and walk off with the diamonds. At least, Batman had exposed that trick.  
  
Crooks had hoped that the law would think that Cynthia had gone back to the lower salon, thus allowing more time for the getaway. The law had fallen for the game, but Batman had not.  
  
Bruce Wayne had seen whom he thought was Cynthia go up in the little elevator. He knew what was amiss as soon as she was found, bound and gagged, on the platform in the lower salon. His efforts, plus those of Dick Grayson, had led to the scene on the mezzanine above the lobby, where Commissioner Gordon and others had themselves seen the false Cynthia Crawford.  
  
All that, however, did not reclaim the diamonds. four million dollars had been lost, and Alan Clendon was in a horrible dither, along with his associates. The Durban Diamond and other missing gems were insured, but for far less than their actual value. The Gotham Association would have to stand much of the loss.  
  
Mushy Nebuchadnezzer conferred with the jewelers. Some of them were horrified by the scandal that all this would produce, but Nebuchadnezzer deemed otherwise, and Clendon agreed. News was better than ordinary publicity, Nebuchadnezzer argued, and the story of the four-million-dollar robbery would sweep the nation.  
  
It would certainly make the public more diamond-minded, particularly as to values. Sales through Nebuchadnezzer's chain of stores would show an increase, partly compensating Clendon and the jewelers for their loss, since they were to supply Mushy wholesale.  
  
Present at the conference was Jon Daley. The bland man said nothing, but his expression told much. Daley's eyes were sharp, occasionally, a wise smile changed his serious expression to a shrewder look. One thing was certain: more diamonds would be needed, and Daley was the man who could deliver the raw product.  
  
Whether or not Nebuchadnezzer's chain went over big, and the wholesalers obtained profits to balance their loss, Daley was sure to be a winner. He preferred, however, to keep that thought to himself. Catching the keen eyes of Bruce Wayne, turned in his direction, Daley wiped off his smile with a quick twitch of his lips.  
  
Lighting a cigarette, the diamond seller strolled away before the conference ended. He had gone from the hotel when Nebuchadnezzer and Clendon left the place and took their separate ways. A little later, Bruce Wayne departed with his friend, the police commissioner.  
  
Meanwhile, Detective Bullock had released all witnesses and suspects. The witnesses, of course, were entirely above blame.  
  
***  
  
Across the street from the Hotel Gotham, there was a small bar. Inside the bar, The Penguin was meeting a new companion, a wealthy young cowpoke named Charley Shame. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas knew Shame well, had chatted with him this evening in the hotel. He knew that Shame would be there, because, on arrival, The Penguin had seen the cowboy's racy roadster parked deep in the trucking entrance. Shame often stopped at the Hotel Gotham, and had the privilege of leaving the car in that space.  
  
Few people ever rode with Charley Shame, though the cowboy invited them often and The Penguin had accepted this evening. Shame was not noted for being very bright but for his daredevil driving, and spent much of his spare time in hospitals or traffic courts. The roadster was new and shiny -- probably stolen. It was Shame's third car this year. He had demolished the other two.  
  
Tonight, Shame was fairly subdued, saying he had seen enough of the police for one evening. He kept close tabs on traffic lights, which was most unusual. Meanwhile, The Penguin was sliding his hand into a pocket in the right door of the car.  
  
There, the master-criminal deftly removed the stolen diamonds, including the celebrated Durban, and slipped them unnoticed into his own pocket.  
  
He had planted them in Shame's car while doubling back to the hotel, confident that if the police searched the roadster, which they hadn't, they would blame Shame for the robbery. If by chance the police or Batman had stopped him, there would've been no jewels in his possession.  
  
At the warehouse where The Penguin was now staying as K.G. Bird, the Black Bird of Prey entered a room quite alone, he emptied a hundred cigarettes from a silver box. Wadding the cigarette box with tissue paper, he stuffed the diamonds inside. Wrapping the box in a package, he put it on a closet shelf.  
  
The telephone was ringing. The Penguin's smile told that he had expected the call. He answered it, quite casually.  
  
"They're right here," said The Penguin, after recognizing the voice across the wire. "Yes, I picked them up from where I left them ... I'll leave them here, while I make the rounds ... All right. I'll keep them until tomorrow."  
  
The "rounds" that The Penguin mentioned in his phone call meant visiting the places where his pals had gone. There were two such places: a hotel where Rendy and Wallingham stayed with other con men, and the apartment house where Jeff had taken Judith Trexel. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas was certain that the police had lost both trails.  
  
To find out what the police knew, The Penguin turned on the television and watched for a scheduled news broadcast. As he expected, it gave preliminary reports concerning the diamond robbery.  
  
"Breaking news!" snapped the news anchor. "Police are looking for the infamous criminal mastermind known as The Penguin. The Penguin, who has had many run-ins with the law and the Caped Crusader, Batman, is believed to had engineered tonight's huge robbery at the Hotel Gotham, netting four million dollars in gems, including the famous Durban Diamond. The police have promised further details of the crime."  
  
Turning off the television, The Penguin decided that even though he had been implicated in the evening's crime, things were still safe. The law would not find him, nor could any of the men he had used supply a lead. The con men were not linked with him, nor were the hoodlums who had taken Judith. Growdy, Jeff, and their helper had been specially imported for this evening's work.  
  
Moreover, no one knew where The Penguin's hideout was. He gave a chuckle as he left his warehouse. The Black Bird of Prey was looking forward to watching more news reports of the crime.  
  
***  
  
Within the half-hour, The Penguin arrived at a little apartment on the fourth floor of a six-story building. He rapped cautiously with his umbrella and was admitted. He found Judith seated in a chair, bound and gagged, with Jeff and the other thug on duty.  
  
Jeff started to tell The Penguin about Growdy's run-in with Batman. When he heard how the Caped Crusader had stopped the police car, the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas nodded and cut Jeff short. That was enough to tell him that Growdy was still at large. The Penguin ordered the thugs to release Judith, which they did.  
  
The girl was wearing the black velvet gown. Since it had no sleeves, her wrists were chafed by the bonds. Rubbing them, Judith stared indignantly at The Penguin, but she made no outcry, for she knew that the crooks would suppress her if she did. Nevertheless, she put her indignation into words.  
  
"So that's why you ran a movie contest!" voiced the girl, in a low tone. "You never arranged things with Miss Crawford at all! She'll be blamed for this robbery --"  
  
"Not at all, my dear" interposed The Penguin, in purring style. "Watch this, Miss Trexel." Politely, the Black Bird of Prey turned on the television, and bowed as the news program began. The first report brought a gasp from Judith. It referred to her.  
  
"New facts on the diamond robbery," came the announcement. "The Penguin's crime was a smooth one. Instead of employing strongarm tactics like many other criminals, The Penguin's ace was a lovely lady, an exact double for the world's Number One super model, Cynthia Crawford. Find the woman, the police say, and at the end of the rainbow, in some hide-away occupied by the Cagey Bird, the notorious super-criminal, will be four million dollars, brought by his charming accomplice. Police are checking on girls who know The Penguin. The master criminal is said to have an eye for beautiful women. But the police won't need this girl's photograph to find her. The face that should have been her fortune will prove her misfortune."  
  
The Penguin's smile had the quality of a leer when he turned from the television to look at Judith. He could tell that the girl's quandary had reached the state of horror. The super-criminal made the most of it.  
  
"Hear that?" he clucked. "It's you and me, young lady. You are being associated with a well-known super-criminal. They know, all right, that you went out of the hotel in my company. I can afford to see it through, but you can't. If I'm arrested, I'll tell the police that you and I were fifty- fifty partners."  
  
Coolly, The Penguin turned to the door and opened it, while Judith gaped. Uneasily, Jeff and his pal shifted their hands to their guns. The Black Bird of Prey motioned that they wouldn't need the revolvers.  
  
"There you are, Miss Trexel," sneered The Penguin. "You can leave this little apartment that we rented for you when you came to town. Run right out, black dress and all, and grab the first policeman that you see. Tell him who you are and all about it. He'll take you to see a chap with a poker face, a police detective named Bullock. Do you know what Bullock will ask you? He'll say, 'Where is The Penguin?' and he'll keep saying it, all night, all day, all night again! You won't be able to answer, will you? You'll say you don't know, and that is the one reply that never registers with the police. When you keep accusing me, I'll insist that you're crazy, and say you were in it with me."  
  
"But everyone will believe Batman when he tells them what happened!" the girl said.  
  
The Penguin scoffed at Judith. "Batman?! Bah! Do you really think the public will believe anything that Masked Desperado says? When you look at the front page of a newspaper and see a photograph of me ... who am I always surrounded by? The Police! And when you see a picture of Batman, who is he always surrounded by? Criminals! Now I ask you, who is the public going to believe?"  
  
As The Penguin finished, Judith's nerve broke. The girl dropped her face into her hands and choked back convulsive sobs. The Man of a Thousand Umbrellas closed the door and waited until Judith's hysteria had passed. Then, in a sympathetic tone, he said: "Here are the terms. Sit tight and say nothing. We'll get you out of this as easily as we pulled you into it. But don't try any funny business. Jeff and a lot of other fellows are going to stay around, in case you do."  
  
Motioning the others out through the door, The Penguin followed. He looked back, gave a mock smile as Judith gazed toward him. Behind that grin was satisfaction.  
  
The Penguin had credited Judith Trexel with common sense, along with beauty, which was something that her double, Cynthia Crawford, did not possess. A stranger in Gotham City, Judith's present plight was such that she would have to accept crime's terms, for the present.  
  
As The Penguin reasoned, there was only one person in all Gotham City who would take Judith's story at its face value. That person had no way, to the super-criminal's knowledge, of guessing where the missing girl might be. In her turn, Judith Trexel had no way of reaching her only friend.  
  
The Penguin was thinking of Batman and gloating because crime, for once, had outrun the master foe of evil!  
  
***  
  
It was late afternoon when a taxicab stopped near the apartment house where Curly Regal was hiding out. The cab brought two passengers: The Penguin and a withery man, whose face was hollow and whose shoulders stooped. The Black Bird of Prey's companion was wearing large, old- fashioned glasses, through which his eyes peered with sharp, quick darts.  
  
The Penguin took him into the apartment house. They went up to see Regal. Admitted into the hideout, the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas grinned at Curly and nudged a thumb toward the withery man.  
  
"Isak Droot," introduced The Penguin. "I wanted him to see what a first- class hideout looks like."  
  
Curly gave Droot's flabby hand a shake, as one crook to another. Droot simply stared, rather awed by the lavishness of the apartment.  
  
"Droot doesn't understand much English," explained The Penguin, "but I've picked up enough Dutch to understand him. He told me about that jam in Amsterdam, and it was pretty bad. Droot killed a fellow on the other side. That's why he's wanted."  
  
Curly looked interested. He asked if racketeers had muscled into the diamond-cutting industry in Amsterdam. The Penguin explained that they hadn't. Droot's kill had been a personal one. More of a manslaughter charge than murder. Curly seemed a bit disappointed in the visitor.  
  
"Here are the sparklers," announced The Penguin, briskly. "No wisecracks when you see the Durban, Curly. It's big enough to be glass, but it's real. Two million dollars in a chunk!"  
  
He brought the diamonds from his pocket and displayed them under a table lamp. Curly shook his head with a quick motion, as though the dazzling sight hurt his eyes. After a few blinks, he plucked the pendant that bore the Durban Diamond.  
  
"What a headlight!" exclaimed Curly. "I thought I'd seen big ones on some of those dames who used to come into the Miami joint. But this baby --"  
  
"Will make a dozen nicer ones," inserted The Penguin, "all easy to sell, and worth around two hundred thousand each. Here -- we'll ask Droot about it."  
  
He spoke a few words in Dutch, as he showed the diamond to the cutter. Droot examined the Durban in a methodical, professional style that reminded The Penguin of an electrician inspecting a faulty wall socket. At last, Droot spoke a few sentences in a wheezy sort of voice. The master criminal of Gotham's underworld understood enough to interpret the gist of it.  
  
"It's all right," The Penguin told Curly. "Droot says he can make little ones out of the big one. It's his business."  
  
"It will be my business, too," snarled Curly, "if the cops ever catch up with me. Only, I'll be sledging real rocks into chunks, up at the Big House, instead of cutting diamonds. How long is Droot going to take?"  
  
The Penguin questioned the diamond cutter, and found out that Droot did not know. To explain matters, the Black Bird of Prey told Curly how expert cutters worked, that sometimes they spent days determining the right way to divide an extraordinary stone like the Durban Diamond. One slip could heavily reduce the value of such a gem.  
  
"Tell him to work on these," suggested Curly, nudging to the rest of the diamonds, "while he's thinking the big job over. Anyway, it's better to take some loss and save time."  
  
The Penguin pushed the table to the corner, so that Droot could continue his survey of the diamonds. Then, producing a newspaper, he showed Curly the picture on the front page. It was a photograph of Cynthia Crawford, but it bore a question mark beneath it.  
  
"There she is," said The Penguin. "Judith Trexel. As good as her own photograph. She'll be useful in a pinch.  
  
"You bet!" agreed Curly. "A perfect decoy, to lead the bulls somewhere else. Tell those guys to get going and take her along, if things get tough."  
  
"I've already told them. Here's something else, Curly." The Penguin thumbed through the newspaper and found an announcement that had been crowded from page one. It stated that the diamond show would continue at the Hotel Gotham, as scheduled and that more gems would be on display that night.  
  
"The models won't be wearing them," declared The Penguin. "People will look at the gems through bulletproof glass, and Bullock will have full charge of the exhibit case."  
  
"Which makes it tough," growled Curly, "unless --"  
  
"There will be a dance," interposed The Penguin, "and the customers won't be as select as they were last night. With the diamonds so safe, nobody is worrying much who comes."  
  
"Then you can take the whole crowd --"  
  
"That's it. Just as we figured, once before. I'll need more than Rendy and Wallingham, and I've got them. Picture it like this, Curly --"  
  
Curly waved a warning hand and shot a suspicious look at Droot, who was rising from the corner table. In an undertone, Curly said that he had heard enough. He would leave the rest to The Penguin. It was the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas who gathered up the diamonds and replaced them in their box.  
  
"I'll drop Droot at his hideout," The Penguin told Curly, "and leave these with him, so he can get started."  
  
"The joint's safe?"  
  
"As safe as Charley Shame's car was," chuckled The Penguin. "As for Droot, he can't clear town. He's depending on me to get him out, later on. He doesn't even know my name, and what's more" -- the Black Bird of Prey threw a look at the stooped Dutch man -- "he hasn't learned his way around Gotham City. He couldn't lead the police here if it meant a pardon for that manslaughter in Holland!"  
  
"Good enough," said Curly. "Only show me the next haul before you turn it over to Droot. But don't expect me to phone you. My policy is to lay off the telephone like it was a rattlesnake. Don't try to call me, either. I won't answer."  
  
The Penguin started to say something, then agreed that Curly's policy was best. This wasn't like Curly's old apartment, where the police could find him any time they wanted. The super-criminal could not picture any reason for giving the big-shot a warning call.  
  
There was one point that The Penguin had given emphasis. Namely, that no one else in Gotham City knew where to reach Isak Droot. That point, seemingly, was proven at another conference which was also taking place at dusk.  
  
***  
  
Men were gathered in the office of the Gotham Jewelers' Association, where Alan Clendon and his associates were completing the final arrangements for the second diamond show. Every detail had been completed, and the jewelers were being assured that no trouble could occur.  
  
The man who gave the assurance was Commissioner James W Gordon, and he did not observe the faint smile on the lips of his friend, Bruce Wayne. Bruce was wondering why anyone would take Gordon's assurance for anything, after what had happened the night before. However, the commissioner still seemed able to impress the jewelers.  
  
The meeting was about to end, when Clendon put the one question that did bother Gordon.  
  
"Tell me, commissioner," queried Clendon, anxiously. "Has Detective Bullock obtained any lead at all to the mystery girl, Curly Regal, or The Penguin?"  
  
"Bullock is waiting for data from Miami," explained Gordon. "Meanwhile, he is cooperating with agents of the FBI. Don't worry, Mr Clendon. The Penguin and Curly Regal will find difficulty disposing of those gems."  
  
"I am afraid he might have the Durban Diamond cut," expressed Clendon, "which would be a very horrible thing to do."  
  
"Where would he find a cutter?" queried Mushy Nebuchadnezzer, who was present. "Your association controls most of such men, does it not?"  
  
Clendon shook his head, ruefully.  
  
"I wish it did," he said. "What troubles me most is that missing Hollander, Isak Droot. You know of him, don't you, Mushy?"  
  
Nebuchadnezzer shook his head.  
  
Clendon smiled wanly. "We managed to suppress that story rather well," he said. He turned to Gordon. "We owe you thanks, commissioner. It would have hurt the industry, had the case been made public."  
  
"The FBI agreed," returned Gordon. "After all, it is their case, more than mine."  
  
It was Jon Daley who inserted a sudden objection, from the corner where he was listening. Daley spoke peevishly. "I doubt that Droot ever came over here," he argued. "He could have pretended to leave Holland, to deceive the authorities there. As for this Penguin chap and Regal, they don't need an Amsterdam cutter, like Droot, to do the work. You have plenty of freelancers in this country, and many of them are resentful because cutters were imported from abroad. If you intend to put the diamond cutters under observation, Clendon, start with the ones you know well -- not the newcomers."  
  
Daley seemed ruffled as he stalked from the conference, and Bruce Wayne watched the nervous twitch of his lips.  
  
When Daley was gone, Nebuchadnezzer inquired: "Is there any truth in what Daley said?"  
  
"A great deal," admitted Clendon. "Some of our American cutters have quit, and we don't know where they have gone. It might be easy for The Penguin and Regal to bribe such men to work for them. At the same time, the question of Droot is a touchy point with Daley. Refer to some of those trade journals that I sent you, Mushy -- that is, if you have time. Among the old ones, you will find the fact that proves my point. It was Daley who arranged for the cutters to come from Amsterdam. Naturally, the Droot matter troubles him."  
  
Nebuchadnezzer was going uptown in his car. He offered to drop Bruce and Commissioner Gordon at the Templeton Club. But they had a car of their own, the commissioner's.  
  
While they rode in the official car, the commissioner suggested to Bruce that they have dinner together. It was then that Bruce remembered an appointment.  
  
"I've just time to get there," he remarked, glancing at his watch. "Thank you for reminding me, commissioner."  
  
"I didn't remind you," returned Gordon, "because I didn't know about it. But if you want your memory jogged, I might mention that your limousine is at the club."  
  
"Yes, thank you," replied Bruce. "I shall see you at the diamond show, this evening."  
  
***  
  
At the front of the Darling Building, Alfred was dutifully waiting as the commissioner and Bruce arrived. Bruce quickly got into the rear passenger compartment of the limo. Inside the car, Bruce made a call on his cellular phone. He spoke in a whispered tone to Oracle.  
  
"Have Dick cover the diamond show with Selina assisting him. Robin is assigned to outside duty," he instructed.  
  
Looking toward Alfred, Bruce ordered, "Let's get back to the Manor as quick as possible, Alfred."  
  
"Very good, sir," came the reply.  
  
It wasn't long before the limo returned to Wayne Manor and Bruce quickly went to his study so that he could descend to the Batcave. Batman was going to embark on a special mission tonight.  
  
Commissioner Gordon would have been utterly amazed, had he known more about Bruce Wayne's appointment. It happened that Batman was bound for the most notorious dive in Gotham City, a place called Red Mike's.  
  
Batman had not forgotten his trail of the night before. He intended to use the facts that he had learned from Growdy, the dying crook who had lived long enough to say too much!  
  
To be continued ... 


	17. Crooks Find Batman

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 17 - CROOKS FIND BATMAN  
  
There was a little room in the rear of Red Mike's hang-out that served an unusual purpose. It was really a telephone booth, though it was twenty times too large for one. A reason lay behind the fact, namely, that Red Mike did not like telephone booths.  
  
Red Mike had one formerly, in his old place. It had given him too much trouble. Several times, customers had complained that a guy was staying in the booth too long. In every case, the "guy" had turned out to be dead, which meant troublesome visits from the police.  
  
So Red Mike had turned a room into a phone booth large enough for elbow room. A place where customers who used the telephone could have friends handy to see that no one interrupted their calls with gun muzzles or knife points.  
  
Customers only used the telephone room when they made calls or expected them, and neither process was very common. Growdy had probably noticed it, and therefore chosen Red Mike's as a convenient place to wait around, considering that people who took calls at Mike's were no longer jinxed.  
  
At any rate, Batman found the phone room dark and deserted, as well as conveniently located near one of the dive's exits. The room still seemed empty after The Caped Crusader was inside it, for darkness was the very atmosphere that suited him.  
  
It was half an hour before Batman received the call he hoped for. Suppressing the bell the moment that it began to ring, he lifted the receiver and spoke in a tone as gruff as Growdy's. The words he muttered suited something that he had heard the night before: "That you, Jeff?"  
  
It was Jeff, and he wanted to know how Growdy was. When Batman growled, "Okay," Jeff said that the big mob was on the job and expecting him.  
  
Growdy was supposed to know where he was to go and Jeff had presented Batman with a problem. But the black-cloaked speaker promptly handled it. "Hold it," gruffed The Dark Knight. Then, lowering his growl: "Somebody's snooping here. Gimme the phone number up at your place, and I'll call you back after I take a gander."  
  
Jeff supplied the number. Hanging up, Batman promptly called Oracle on his comm-link and repeated it. Within seconds by using her computer, Barbara Gordon had the address. It was that of an apartment house, where Jeff happened to be living on the floor below Judith.  
  
All that remained to lull Jeff was the return call that "Growdy" had promised. So far, Batman's scheme had clicked in perfect style. He had been congratulating himself, however, because no one had come to the phone room, a thing which had an element of luck. As was the way with luck, it didn't hold.  
  
Scarcely had Batman dropped two quarters into the pay phone, when the door of the room was kicked inward, admitting more than the dim light of the passage.  
  
With the swing of the door came the glare of two strong flashlights, which were pointed straight toward the telephone. Caught in the glare, Batman was outlined like an actor on the stage.  
  
The arrivals were a couple of mobsters, who had a feud with others of their ilk and weren't taking chances on running into ambush. But they forgot their differences with other denizens of scumland when they saw the black- caped intruder.  
  
They raised a loud shout, a double chorus that was heard throughout Red Mike's voicing the name that could rally all crimeland to action: "BATMAN!"  
  
Guns coming from their hips, the pair sought to start the action they knew their shout would bring. The action began, but the two mobsters didn't start it.  
  
There was a whirl of blackness from the corner, that merged with the dark, away from the path of the flashlights. As crooks veered to spot Batman again, they found him without their lights.  
  
The blackness was upon them, a living avalanche. Batman lunged them ahead of him, swinging his fists. The iron-fisted hands were like bludgeons that met the skulls of his discoverers.  
  
Neither mobster was able to blast a shot at Batman before he reached them. They fired, but their bullets went wide, because their revolvers were flying back across their shoulders.  
  
It took the noise of the gunshots to drown the solid skull thuds that Batman supplied. He didn't even stop his drive, but hurdled the senseless thugs while they sagged. By the time more thugs arrived, attracted by the gunfire, The Gotham Goliath was gone.  
  
***  
  
Having served that timely dose to those who needed it, Batman was off on his real quest. He had no time to waste in getting to Jeff's. If that thug began to wonder why Growdy did not call back, the scene might change before The Masked Manhunter reached it.  
  
Confident that the crooks were holding some girl a prisoner, Batman raced the Batmobile to the appointed address. He weaved through streets using an electronic device that allowed him to change traffic lights in his favor when he neared them.  
  
As the rolling arsenal neared the apartment house, Batman made a trip around the block.  
  
During that circuit, Batman viewed certain windows, saw some that impressed him. They were on the fourth floor, near a rear corner, and the shades were drawn tight.  
  
Leaving the Batmobile near the front of the apartment house, Batman made a gliding, unseen trip through the janitor's entrance and chose a stairway, instead of the elevator.  
  
He could see doors from each turn of the stairs, and some seemed suspiciously ajar. On that account, Batman kept up to the top, found steps to a trapdoor that opened to the roof and took them. Soon, he had reached the parapet at the very corner above the apartment with the drawn shades. The apartment lay three floors beneath, considering the roof as a seventh story.  
  
Batman reached to his utility belt and brought out a coil of silk rope that was slender but very strong. The Caped Crusader used this special type of rope because of its strength and he liked the feel of it in his hands.  
  
He attached the end of the rope to a metal pipe that ran along the roof, near the parapet. Drawing the rope taut, he lowered himself over the roof edge.  
  
Six floors of space lay below, but that was not why Batman paused before making a descent. He was making proper preparations for his journey, calculating whatever hazards might lie along the route. He preferred to go down the blank wall until he reached the fourth-floor level, then work sideward to the apartment that he sought.  
  
It was much better than going past windows where gunners might be on watch. Besides, lights from windows might reveal Batman to lurkers in the courtyard below. Beyond the court were low-roofed houses lining the rear street, all likely places where members of Jeff's "big mob" could be.  
  
One place was seemingly safe: the roof that Batman had just left. Things changed there, however, immediately after the black-cloaked venturer had dipped beyond the parapet. Two men crept through the doorway that The Dark Knight had used to reach the roof. One was Jeff. The other, the pal who had helped him bring Judith from the Hotel Gotham.  
  
"Something's gone whacky," undertoned Jeff. "Growdy didn't call back, and when I tried to get him at Red Mike's, some copper got on the phone. I don't like it, Fergie."  
  
"You think Batman was in on it?" queried Fergie.  
  
"That's what I'd like to know," returned Jeff. "If it was him that Growdy heard snooping, we'll be in for trouble. That's why I wanted to take a gander up here on the roof. The Batman has a way of sneaking to spots like this."  
  
They were creeping across the roof, near the parapet and Fergie gave a hoarse whisper and clutched at Jeff's arm. Fergie had found the tied end of the rope. Jeff shoved Fergie aside before the fellow could grip the taut line. Carefully, Jeff tested it with a light-fingered touch, then motioned Fergie to do the same.  
  
Slight tugs from the rope told that it was in use. Both crooks could picture Batman, dangling from the other end of the line, working his way down to Judith's apartment. What pleased Jeff was the fact that the rope went over the parapet near the corner, where there was only a blank wall below.  
  
From his pocket, Jeff pulled a large folding knife, opened the big blade and placed it carefully against the taut rope. The rope was tough, but slender, and Jeff figured that he could cut it with a single slice.  
  
Gripping the knife tightly, he drew the sharp edge across the rope with a slow, sawing motion.  
  
The rope didn't quite cut through, but its frayed edges yielded under the pulling from beyond the parapet. Before Jeff could make another stroke with the knife, the rope snapped. Like a frightened snake, it whipped across the parapet and lashed down into darkness.  
  
Whoever was dependent on that rope had certainly gone with it, on a forty-foot trip to the courtyard below.  
  
Gloatingly, Jeff croaked a fitting epitaph: "Good-bye, Batman!"  
  
All that the gloating crooks awaited was the crash of Batman's falling form when it hit the cement courtyard. They couldn't hear it where they crouched, for the parapet intervened. Jeff remembered, too, that such crashes were frequently thuddy. Drawing a revolver, Jeff raised himself to the parapet.  
  
"The guys downstairs must have heard it," he told Fergie. "I'll point Batman out to them."  
  
Half across the parapet, Jeff pointed the gun downward. Fergie noted a squint of his pal's eyes. Jeff already saw Batman!  
  
Although the rope was gone, The Gotham Avenger still remained at the level of the fourth floor, clinging to the blank wall like a mammoth bat!  
  
As Jeff shoved his gun muzzle downward, he saw a gloved hand come upward, aiming some sort of gun in return. It was Batman's grapnel. Hastily, Jeff fired. At the same instant Batman's handheld device spurted. The shots were simultaneous, but they differed in matter of aim.  
  
Batman had a perfect line of fire. He had simply taken aim by knuckling his hand against the wall, to point the grapnel straight upward. Jeff hadn't that advantage. He was leaning over the roof edge, bringing his gun inward as he fired. Jeff's first shot missed. He needed a second try, but failed to get it.  
  
Jolted by Batman's small grappling hook to the chest, Jeff lost his grip upon the parapet. His overbalanced form pitched outward. Shrieking wildly as he clawed the air, he dived to the cement. As he passed, The Masked Manhunter shifted to avoid him.  
  
It was an easy shift, considering how Batman was fixed to the wall. Like a rock-climber, his incredbile athletic ability, talent, and strength allowed him to cling to the wall using any crevice that could be found.  
  
When the rope lashed past him, he knew that it had been cut. His right hand had grabbed for any kind of hold on the wall he could find. He was lucky that it was an old building in which natural erosion had created a great number of crevices on the wall.  
  
Batman was still on the move when the injured crook hit the courtyard. That wasn't The Caped Crusader's intended outcome for the criminal, but it had been the hand of fate.  
  
This time, Fergie heard a crash and knew what had happened. But Fergie didn't care to take the chance that had finished Jeff. Instead, he flashed a light above the parapet and yelled to men below: "Get Batman! He's on the wall, over by the corner!"  
  
Shooters began to blast the bricks with bullets. Fortunately for Batman, their aim was excellent. Their slugs were beating a tattoo in the very space that Fergie had named, and The Dark Knight was no longer there.  
  
Speeding his crablike gait away from the corner, Batman reached Judith's window.  
  
It took only a dozen seconds, but by that time snipers knew that they were not scoring hits. An automobile searchlight sliced from an alleyway and swept up along the wall. The gleam bathed the corner, then swung toward Judith's window.  
  
The light showed Batman clutching the window sill. His knees were doubled up to his hands. He was twisting his feet free, ready to crash headforemost through the glass.  
  
Whether the delay of smashing the barrier would have given crooks the time they needed, was something that the gunners never learned. Timed just ahead of Batman's lunge, the window shade ripped upward and the sash rose with it, flung by Judith's hands.  
  
The girl had heard the shooting and thought that the police had come. She wanted to tell them who she was, why she was here. She didn't expect to find anyone outside the window. To her amazed eyes, Batman's inward surge seemed like an invasion of the night itself.  
  
Before the girl could even gasp, Batman bowled her from the window, sent her in a long sprawl to the center of the room. His own dive landed him on the floor, shoulder first.  
  
As Batman struck, a submachine gun chattered from the alley. Its spray of bullets ripped the window frame to shreds. The hail of lead tore the wall of Judith's living room and carved holes in the door that led to the hall. But all that peppering took place above the level of the window sill, for the gunfire could not tear apart the bricks.  
  
Judith remembered Batman, from the night before, when he had come, like a ghost from nowhere, to dispose of a murderous hoodlum named Growdy. She gave snatches of the story that she wanted this friend to believe -- that she had been duped into aiding crime, the night before.  
  
Firing ended, as the crooks found they were getting nowhere with the submachine gun. Reaching up to the knob of the door, Batman opened it. Grabbing Judith's wrist, he dragged her through on hands and knees.  
  
They were around the doorway, when the machine gun began another hail. Crooks had noticed the top of the door swing when Batman opened it.  
  
Getting to the stairway, Batman was drawing Judith down the steps, when he heard the door of the elevator clang open. Spinning the girl to the shelter of the stairs, The Gotham Goliath wheeled and saw what he was up against.  
  
Reaching to his incredible utility belt, Batman pulled out a flash/bang pellet and hurled it at the would-be gunmen. The pair fell to the floor after the powerful blast and bright light blinded them. The Masked Manhunter overtook Judith and hurried her down the stairs. Just past the second floor, they met crooks coming up. Batman warded Judith back with one hand and threw another flash/bang pellet down the stairs.  
  
Another pair of foemen went tumbling from the frightening blast that seemed to shake the entire building. Unexpected attack was Batman's advantage in this running fight. It would not last outdoors, so he headed for the janitor's room in the basement.  
  
By this time, the neighborhood was aroused, and police would soon arrive. Ordinarily, Batman would have weaved his way past crooks and left them looking for him, but such a course was dangerous, with Judith along.  
  
Pointing toward a chair, Batman told the girl to rest, while he kept watch at the door. Peering through a crack, The Caped Crusader placed his other hand on the light switch, intending to press it off should crooks approach this quarter. Finding that the lull continued, Batman reached behind his back and handed an envelope to Judith.  
  
Puzzled at first, the girl opened the envelope. Inside, she found a sheet of photographs which he had ran off the Batcomputer. The pictures showed every society-man who had been present at the diamond show the night before.  
  
"Find the man you know," Batman told Judith. "The one who talked you into helping him last night."  
  
"His name was The Penguin," began the girl. "I think I mentioned that upstairs."  
  
"Point to his picture," instructed Batman.  
  
Judith found The Penguin's photograph. It tallied.  
  
Batman held his hand up and then looked up as if speaking into the air. "Oracle?"  
  
Judith couldn't hear anything, but Batman did in his ear. "Yes, Boss?"  
  
"Contact Nightwing and tell him to keep an eye open for The Penguin."  
  
Hardly had Batman given the message, before a roar of guns began outdoors. Catching Judith's arm, The Dark Knight hurried her out through the basement.  
  
The next few minutes were the most exciting that Judith had ever experienced. Compared to them, her previous adventures seemed a childish recollection.  
  
Crooks were all about, shooting it out with arriving police. Judith could hear the whines of sirens. She saw blue uniforms emanating from police cars. She was rushed through darkness into spots where she would have sworn that walls intervened, until Batman picked the needed openings.  
  
She could hardly see Batman in the darkness, but she felt the firm grip of his hand upon her arm.  
  
Looking back along a passage, Judith saw squirming crooks, with officers pouncing upon them.  
  
Then Judith was in the Batmobile. How she happened to arrive there, she couldn't understand, for she was dazed and breathless. The car was wheeling through streets, just as Batman had sped through alleyways and passages. Sirens were everywhere, and sometimes police cars fired at the incredible black automobile, probably thinking that fleeing crooks were in it.  
  
Always, the Batmobile was gone before the mistaken police could halt it. The driver was remarkably skillful.  
  
Judith was fascinated by the way he picked streets where the cordon had not closed in. Finally, the sounds of sirens had faded far behind, and Batman seemed to settle back deep in his seat.  
  
She could tell by the look of determination on his face that Batman would deal with crooks to come as he had handled those whose evil careers had ended in the very recent past!  
  
To be continued ... 


	18. Last Minute Crime

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 18 - LAST MINUTE CRIME  
  
A dance was in progress at the Hotel Gotham, as a prelude to the second evening of the diamond show. Tonight's event was being staged in the ballroom on the mezzanine, instead of the top-floor salons.  
  
To make up for the stolen Durban Diamond, the Gotham jewelers had supplied three other stones, much smaller than the Durban but quite famous. They were still able to announce that ten million dollars' worth of gems would be exhibited.  
  
Dick Grayson was watching the dancing when a call from Oracle came through his earpiece. Dick immediately contacted the beautiful Selina Kyle, who was almost salivating over the gems which were in such easy reach. Only knowing that she would hear about it for the rest of her life from the man she loved kept her from grabbing the dazzling jewels.  
  
Unbeknownst to Dick and Selina, there was another pair of eyes that were, in a way, helping them. Helena Bertinelli -- also known as The Huntress -- was also at the dance. The tall brunette was stunning in a white dress.  
  
Dick, Selina, and Helena had all noticed half a dozen doubtful faces among the men on the dance floor. They looked like smoothies who didn't belong at a high-society ball. But Dick's primary mission was to find The Penguin in a hurry.  
  
The search was easy. There wasn't too many men who looked like the Penguin. Dick spotted The Black Bird of Prey standing by a curtained archway that opened onto a balcony. He was lighting a cigarette in his long holder. As he puffed, he turned toward the balcony and took a stroll out into the open air.  
  
Dick gave a nod to Selina. The Penguin was accounted for at present. He couldn't make trouble while he was not in the ballroom.  
  
At the other end of the ballroom, hotel employees were wheeling a large showcase in through the entrance. The case contained the jewel display, and it was flanked by four detectives. Other policemen stood in the doorway, and Harvey Bullock was with them.  
  
Commissioner Gordon was with the receiving committee that approached the showcase. Dick saw Alan Clendon chatting with Mushy Nebuchadnezzer, and noted Jon Daley lounging in a corner. Daley did not appear particularly interested in the coming display. At times, he watched the dance. At other intervals, he stood with half-closed eyes, scarcely noticing persons about him.  
  
Clendon turned to the orchestra, at the side of the ballroom, and gave a wide sweep of his arms, ordering the music to cease. As it ended with a final note, Clendon stepped to a microphone. Dick spoke into his comm-link to Selina, Robin -- who was outside the hotel -- and Oracle in an undertone.  
  
"He'll be here any minute," said Dick, referring to Batman. "If The Penguin thinks he can pull another big robbery, he's wrong. Even if he has a scheme, he won't have time to work it."  
  
It didn't seem possible that Dick's statement could be wrong, especially with Batman on his way to the Hotel Gotham. Both Selina and Robin were willing to concede that crime would do a sad, fizzling, fade-out, culminating in the arrest of The Penguin.  
  
The heroes were looking forward to The Penguin's bewilderment when the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas would find himself confronted by Judith Trexel, the girl who could expose the suave society criminal's part in crime.  
  
This was crime's last minute. Ignorant of Batman's approach, criminals could hardly hope to make a thrust for the new display of diamonds. Even if they did, their chances of snatching gems looked negligible. The diamonds were tightly locked in the bulletproof showcase, with the law in full charge.  
  
It happened that crime was in the making. Crime so sudden and amazing that when it struck, it left the civilian-attired heroes as dumfounded as all the other witnesses!  
  
Alan Clendon was announcing that the dance was over. Couples were slow in leaving the floor. Impatiently, Clendon kept asking the rest to retire from the floor, but they didn't go. They were still dancing, a dozen couples, although the music had stopped.  
  
Then, with one accord, the couples halted. There was a loud-voiced chorus from a dozen throats: "Stick up your hands!"  
  
At the cry, Bullock reached for a revolver, as did all the detectives in his squad. Suddenly, Harvey's hand froze upon his gun. He gave a quick order for the others to wait. The men on the dance floor were the ones who had called for hands up, and their dancing partners were shrieking frantically.  
  
The men were crooks -- the girls weren't. The Penguin's con men had chosen models as partners, and had not released the glamourous girls when the music ended. Instead, they had wheeled the helpless women toward the police, using the girls as human shields. Over the bare shoulders of the women, Bullock saw the bristling muzzles of revolvers.  
  
Those guns were ready to chop down the first detective who tried to resist. If Bullock and his squad fired in return, their bullets would not reach the men. The only targets that the police had were the bare backs of the girls in evening gowns, who in their turn could not escape the clutches of the thugs who embraced them.  
  
Every time a model tried to struggle, her partner applied a gun muzzle to her head, letting the other gentlemen crooks keep covering the police. Such applications of the muzzles explained the shrieks that Bullock heard.  
  
The spirited models were wilting under pressure. In some cases, the mobsters were no longer suppressing struggling partners. They were supporting them, instead.  
  
Something hit the floor with a clank. It was Bullock's gun. Glumly, the detectives let their revolvers fall and raised their arms halfway. Two of the con men approached the showcase, dragging their female partners with them. The pair were The Penguin's aces: Rendy and Wallingham.  
  
The smooth crooks told Clendon to unlock the showcase, which he did. They ordered Mushy Nebuchadnezzer to bring them a large satchel which was lying in a corner. When he returned with it, they made him help Clendon bring diamonds from the showcase and put them in the bag.  
  
To Commissioner Gordon, the jewel thieves detailed the ignominious task of gathering up the police revolvers and putting them in the Tuxedo pockets of the various crooks, who thus were doubly armed.  
  
Gordon had no other choice, so he went the rounds with the guns. By the time he had finished his deliveries, he was shaking with anger.  
  
Bullock watched the diamonds go into the bag, a glittering cascade of jewels worth ten million dollars. He intended to remember those gems, and the bag, too. The satchel was made of alligator leather and had two handles.  
  
After it was filled, it became quite heavy, and the mobsters made Clendon and Nebuchadnezzer carry it to the center of the dance floor.  
  
All the while, Dick, Selina, and Helena stood with raised hands, as helpless as a hundred other men and women who were present. It was a situation without parallel, the most amazing crime that Gotham City had ever known, with the largest stakes ever gathered in a single haul. Yet the daring nature of the robbery was the thing that made it so efficient.  
  
With the models as hostages, the crooks feared no resistance. Bullock had locked the door of the ballroom after the diamonds came in. With the doors locked, there was no way for the heroes to change into their costumes.  
  
Even at that, the crooks would still have held the floor. Twelve lives were at stake - those of the luckless glamourous girls, who had begun as partners in a dance and ended as unwilling partners in crime!  
  
But the heroes held an edge that would soon mean opportunity. The crooks had gathered in the guns of the police, but they did not know who they had among them in the room. They did not know that there were three people, Nightwing, Catwoman, and The Huntress, who would be ready as soon as an opportunity presented itself. Outside was Robin, the Boy Wonder.  
  
"Oracle," Dick whispered into his comm-link, "we have a situation, here. Inform The Blackbird to get here ASAP. C.W. and R, wait until the bad guys start the getaway. Don't take any chances until the girls are safe. These guys won't try to drag the girls along. That bag of diamonds is the only handicap they care to bother with."  
  
Dick's analysis was correct. Rendy and Wallingham had moved back to the center of the floor. With sudden shoves, they sent their dance partners spilling along the floor and picked up the bag instead. The two frightened girls remained where they had fallen, looking very bedraggled in their mussed gowns.  
  
Guns circling the group, Rendy and Wallingham retired to the far end of the ballroom, where they opened a door to the fire escape. The other crooks moved back to join them, flinging aside the girls who had served them as human shields.  
  
Again, Dick whispered: "Wait!"  
  
The crooks still had guns, and the police were now unarmed. The models, too, were still in danger -- sprawled about the dance floor, they would be the first targets if the mobsters opened fire.  
  
No stir came from any part of the vast ballroom. Not a person was willing to lift a hand against the crooks, knowing that such a gesture would produce a massacre.  
  
It wasn't until the last of the thugs were in the doorway that a feeble buzz began. As it started, the last pair of crooks made gestures with their guns. They were the rear guard, that pair, leering as they looked around the ballroom, they intended to hold things steady until cars were moving from in back of the hotel.  
  
The rear guards were concentrating upon Bullock and the detectives. They weren't noticing Dick, Selina and Helena. In a quick undertone, Dick said to Selina: "Let's get into that closet."  
  
Selina raised an eyebrow but decided not to say anything.  
  
Unseen, the couple slipped into the closet -- but they found that they weren't alone!  
  
"Oh, excuse me," Dick said in astonishment. Then after looking at who was the third person in the coat closet, he said in a hoarse voice, "You?! What are you doing, here?"  
  
The third person was an unmasked Helena Bertinelli. "Damn!" she exclaimed.  
  
"Well, isn't this interesting, Dickie Boy," Selina said smiling.  
  
"No time!" he whispered. "The odds just got better for our side." With that he started to take his civilian clothes off.  
  
Helena put her mask on and was ready for action.  
  
All Selina pretty much had to do was let her gown drop, roll on her special leather boots and gloves, pull up her cowl, and she was ready to go.  
  
The three costumed figures dropped low to the floor and crawled out of the closet. All the people in the room were facing the armed criminals and the crowd was also blocking the entrance of those assigned to stop the robbery.  
  
Nightwing produced some Mini-Batarangs in his hands and cut loose at the two gunmen serving as the rear guard. The sharp, miniature, shurikens found their marks and dropped the two men.  
  
Surging, the three were joined by Bullock and the detectives. Hurdling dodging models, Harvey and his men pounced upon the wounded crooks and obtained two guns from each: their own and the weapons given them by Gordon.  
  
The pursuers reached outside to the top of the fire escape. Below, they saw men piling into cars, carrying the alligator satchel. The crooks dodged suddenly to cover, finding it close by.  
  
Bullock wheeled, ordering his men back to the shelter of the ballroom. Shouts came from the mobsters as they opened fire, intent to deliver slaughter to those who chose to pursue them.  
  
Then, from darkness opposite, came an answer that was doubly overwhelming. At the end of the alley was a sight that made the criminals shake in their shoes. A gleaming, black, and to them, a dangerous looking automobile. Fog could be seen curling around the rolling arsenal as it ideled, blocking their way of escape.  
  
They couldn't see through the darkend windows of the car -- but they were certain who was inside ... the most dangerous man on earth known by all as Batman!  
  
The bursts of automatics smothered the barks of revolvers. Bullets were bouncing off the Batmobile as a challenge. The crooks were yelling incoherent threats at the Caped Crusader.  
  
Crime's last minute was past. Batman had arrived. Thanks to the efforts of those who assisted him, the master fighter was in time to save threatened men from doom, and shift disaster to the crooks who deserved it!  
  
While the howls of the criminals punctuated their savage gunfire toward the Batmobile, Nightwing remembered The Penguin. The Prodigal Son of the Caped Crusader had last seen the society criminal on the balcony, and decided that he must still be there.  
  
At a turn in small hallway that led to the fire escape, Dick saw the balcony. He couldn't squeeze through the space to it, so he kept on to the ballroom, which was difficult enough, because people were piling down, anxious see the pursuit.  
  
It was less than a single floor from street to ballroom, but it took Nightwing longer than he expected.  
  
In fact, the ballroom was almost deserted when he reached it. Daring people had chosen to watch the chase. Fearsome ones had stampeded through the main door to the lobby, the moment that the way was open. Nightwing looked toward the curtains where he had last seen The Penguin.  
  
The gentleman crook had edged into sight from the balcony. Seeing the way clear, he reached behind the curtain and drew an object into sight. With a quick shout, Nightwing sprang for him.  
  
The thing that The Penguin had was an alligator satchel!  
  
Like a flash, Nightwing remembered the substitution of Judith for Cynthia and recognized that crooks had played a variation of the game. The crowd that went through the fire exit had chucked the jewel-loaded satchel through to the balcony, and had picked up a dummy bag instead.  
  
The Penguin, waiting on the balcony, was starting a reverse trail, carrying a mere ten million dollars as coolly as if the diamonds belonged to him!  
  
The Penguin was waddling for other curtains, only a dozen feet away. They marked a hidden door, a side exit from the ballroom. Nightwing remembered detectives on guard there, earlier, but they had gone. The Black Bird of Prey was taking what he thought was an immediate path to freedom, when the blue-and-black suited hero shouted for him to halt.  
  
The crook started to obey, then raised his umbrella gun in sight, so snakily that he had the weapon aimed before Nightwing realized it.  
  
Nightwing ducked the opening fire. In his haste, The Penguin fired wild, but the costumed vigilante didn't care. The shots were alarms that brought others to the scene.  
  
A few men were still by the display case: Clendon, Nebuchadnezzer, others of the committee. Attracted by the battle, they saw the satchel in The Penguin's hand and recognized it as the jewel bag. They started for the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas, though one man tried to restrain them. That man was Daley, who made wild grabs, yelling that they would be killed.  
  
Daley's shout had logic. The Penguin was desperate. Wheeling back toward the balcony, he was ready to shoot down some of the surgers, when Nightwing came at him through the curtain.  
  
Burying The Penguin half beneath a heavy drape, Nightwing took a hard slug at the criminal's head. The stroke landed home. By all rights, the force of the blow should have flattened the criminal mastermind.  
  
Instead, it barely staggered him. The heavy curtain came between Nightwing's descending fist and The Penguin's skull, the thick velvet serving as a buffer. Again, the Black Bird of Prey's desperation bettered his performance. Unable to get his umbrella gun hand free of the curtain, he used the other to swing the heavy satchel.  
  
It took a strong heft, but The Penguin managed it. The alligator bag drove back Nightwing's warding arm, sprawled the amazed hero half a dozen feet away. Off balance, the super-criminal tangled with the curtain, but squirmed free as the others reached him.  
  
They dived for shelter when The Penguin fired wildly with his umbrella gun. It wasn't until Nightwing joined them that they could resume the chase.  
  
By then, The Penguin was gone over the balcony rail, now using the umbrella like a parachute and the satchel was gone, too. Stumbling between Clendon and Nebuchadnezzer, Nightwing looked for his quarry. He saw running figures, spurting, guns, and heard the distant echoes of people screaming Batman's name -- all proof that his mentor, Catwoman, and The Huntress had routed the other crooks and that the police were rounding them up.  
  
But The Penguin wasn't anywhere in sight, until Nightwing happened to look toward one of the deserted cars.  
  
There was The Penguin, climbing in behind the steering wheel, hauling the precious satchel in after him. He was starting away as the young hero vaulted the balcony rail. Nightwing landed on the ground beneath and dashed through the trucking entrance, hoping to catch the man who walked with a waddle.  
  
In one backward glance, Nightwing saw Mushy Nebuchadnezzer at the rail, waving Clendon back into the ballroom to spread the alarm. Daley wasn't in sight. The Prodigal Son of Batman decided that he must have ducked back inside.  
  
Word was not needed to start a chase after The Penguin. From the moment that his car pulled away, he was marked. The first to raise a shout was a remarkable costumed teenager who popped into sight from a doorway. It was Robin.  
  
Grimly, The Penguin drove at breakneck speed through a hail of police bullets that, somehow, didn't reach him or ruin the car. But by the time he swung into the avenue, a pursuing black car and a red motorcycle were after him.  
  
It was the Batmobile and Robin's modified 491cc, liquid-cooled "motocross" Bat-Cyle. The two bat vehicles clung to The Penguin's trail, and the rolling arsenal and hot motorcycle served as a guide for a string of patrol cars that joined in the chase.  
  
During that pursuit, Batman gave orders over the comm-link that puzzled Robin, until they had gone some distance. The orders were to keep The Penguin's car in sight, but not to overtake it. Soon, Robin understood the purpose. Batman wanted to find out exactly where the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas had headed.  
  
Judith was still in the Batmobile, and she caught the idea, too. With the police cars following the incredible black car, not The Penguin, Batman's plan was sure to work.  
  
Up ahead, The Penguin thought he was getting clear, though the sound of repeated sirens told him that he had very little leeway. Reaching the Nineties, he wheeled into a side street, jolted his car to a stop in front of a small apartment house and waddled inside, carrying the satchel. There, the Black Bird of Prey jabbed the bell of an apartment, spoke hastily through the entry telephone.  
  
Admitted by the buzzer, The Penguin found Curly Regal waiting in the fancy hideout. Rapidly pouring out his story, he informed Curly that the police were close, and the news brought an angry snarl from the big-shot.  
  
"Where else could I head?" demanded The Penguin. "We've got to run together, Curly. You've got a car out back, hidden where you can sneak to it. Make your getaway with the loot, while I hold them off."  
  
The idea pleased Curly. Carrying the diamonds was one feature. Having The Penguin bear the brunt was another. Curly reached for the satchel, but criminal mastermind stopped him.  
  
"The diamonds are wrapped up inside it," explained The Penguin. "Take the package, but never mind the satchel. You'll save yourself some weight."  
  
Curly opened the bag, as The Penguin moved toward the hallway, gun umbrella in hand. As yet, no pursuers had arrived, but the sirens were out front.  
  
Finding the package that The Penguin mentioned, Curly lifted it from the bag, which it very nearly filled. Both he and the waddling little crook were too intent upon their own actions to notice something that occurred elsewhere.  
  
The window of the living room was rising, silently, smoothly. Beyond it was pitch-blackness, which was odd, for Curly's window usually afforded sight of a street lamp, a few hundred feet away. The blackness seemed to twist, pressing inward, it became a living shape. Batman had reached the hideout, to confront the crooks and hold them until the law arrived!  
  
Suddenly, Batman paused, his form not yet fully visible. A curious drama was beginning in his presence. He wanted to see the finish.  
  
Curly Regal had dipped his ear to the package from the alligator bag, and was listening intently. A sharp gleam came to the big-shot's eyes. His blunt face changed expression as he looked around for The Penguin.  
  
By then, The Penguin was just outside the door. Batman could see him, starting a sneak for a stairway. Shifting half across the room, Curly saw him, too, and gave a snarl which the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas heard.  
  
Wisely, The Penguin turned. If he hadn't, he would have received a bullet. For Curly was covering him with a drawn revolver.  
  
His own umbrella gun lowered, The Penguin came back into the apartment. His voice mingled surprise with anger. "What's the trouble, Curly?" he queried. "Why didn't you get started? If I'm going to hold these Masked Hoodlums off --"  
  
"Hold them off?" sneered Curly. "From the roof? That's where you were going!"  
  
"Only to the stairway, where I could flank them."  
  
"Yeah? I think different!" Curly was emphatic. "You were going to let them come right through and head after me. They'd know who owned this hideout easy enough, and seeing that bag --"  
  
"They'd know that you had the diamonds," interposed The Penguin, quickly. "So what? They know already that you're running this racket. What's the difference, Curly?"  
  
"The difference is just this!" Curly was keeping The Penguin closely covered. "I wouldn't have the sparklers, get it? They aren't in that package. You're a double-crosser, Penguin" -- the snarl in Curly's tone was vicious -- "and you're trying to get me with one of my own stunts! I heard that package tick!"  
  
At the word "package," Curly gestured and let his eyes go in the same direction. Curly didn't often make mistakes, but this one was the worst -- and last -- of his career. In the second that Curly was off guard, Penguin's hand gave quickly raised his umbrella, pulling the trigger as it came up.  
  
Curly doubled over, fighting to hold his feet. Batman couldn't get into the room fast enough to stop The Penguin from shooting Curly. Wounded, Curly was able to open fire, but his gun was wabbly. He missed three shots, and was sprawling when he loosed the fourth. By then, Batman was driving through, he cleared Curly's sagging form with a swift leap.  
  
The Penguin was quickly waddling down the stairs, instead of up. Gaining on the crook, Batman sighted him at a turn and threw a quick-release collapsible hinged Batarang that staggered the criminal mastermind, for he heard The Penguin go tumbling down the steps ahead.  
  
Robin had come behind Batman to assist in the pursuit.  
  
A few more paces, Batman could have overtaken The Penguin, but at that moment he heard the slam of an elevator door above. Loud voices told that the police had reached Curly's floor.  
  
Turning about, Batman dashed upward with Robin right behind him. He saw an officer bending over Curly's body. Others had gone ahead into the apartment. The astonished policeman looked up to see Batman sweeping toward him, and he instinctively raised his revolver. The Dark Knight sent him spinning, the gun jolting from his hand.  
  
Two men heard the clatter. One was Bullock. The other, a detective. They had reached Curly's table and were lifting the package that tilted from the satchel. The detective turned with ready gun, but Bullock grabbed his hand. As the heavy package was slipping from their grasp, Batman caught it with a deft dip.  
  
His hands scarcely seemed to hold the burden. Despite its weight, they tossed it, as though passing it along. There was no one to receive it, but the package did not strike the floor. Instead, Batman's fling sent it sailing through the window.  
  
Ten million dollars!  
  
The figures seemed to whirl in Bullock's brain, as he stood, open-mouthed. With that thought, Bullock had a flash of doubt as to whether this was the real Batman or an impostor like Ape Bundy. As Harvey's gun came up, his ears were listening, expecting to hear the precious package hit the courtyard below Curly's window.  
  
The bundle did not go that far. It exploded in midair, with a blast that shattered all the windows on the courtyard and sent up a volcanic flare. Loose bricks rattled in echo.  
  
Harvey Bullock and the other policemen had been saved by the real Masked Manhunter of Gotham City -- Batman!  
  
To be continued ... 


	19. Crime's Proof

BATMAN: CRIME, CRIME EVERYWHERE  
  
By Bruce Wayne  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.  
  
CHAPTER 19 - CRIME'S PROOF  
  
Things struck home to Harvey Bullock, so swiftly that Batman did not have to tell him. The Penguin had brought the alligator satchel here to Curly Regal, and had obviously turned it over to the big-shot. More anxious to keep the loot than the bag, Curly had planned to carry the contents farther.  
  
He wouldn't have gone far. The inner package had a time bomb, instead of diamonds. It hadn't been meant for Curly, originally. The Penguin had simply planned to get rid of a few unneeded con men who were to take the police on the wrong trail.  
  
There had been a switch of bags, back at the hotel. For a short while, The Penguin had carried the one with the diamonds. But the satchel that he had hauled into the car was the false bag that his pals had been forced to leave there.  
  
Unquestionably, The Penguin had originally planned to murder Curly Regal in the hideout. Diamonds gone, Curly dead -- the set-up was perfect, from the double-crosser's standpoint. But with the dummy bag on his hands, and a bomb inside it, the Black Bird of Prey had been forced to other measures.  
  
His new idea had almost worked. The Penguin had tried to make Curly a perfect fall guy. The empty satchel would have meant that Curly was on his way with the diamonds. Blown to bits in his car, Curly would have disappeared forever.  
  
But there would have been no evidence to show that the big-shot had been blasted. It was Curly's habit to blow up other people, not himself.  
  
Batman had ruined The Penguin's game. The next job was to find the Man of a Thousand Umbrellas. Remembering the shots from the stairway, Bullock started out, ordering his men along. The Caped Crusader followed, only part way.  
  
He stopped at a front window, to view the scene below. From his high observation point, Batman witnessed the next scene in the drama.  
  
Cars had pulled up in front of the apartment house. Commissioner Gordon was getting out of one, accompanied by Alan Clendon, while Mushy Nebuchadnezzer was stepping from another. Detectives were pointing to the doorway, telling the commissioner that Bullock had gone upstairs. At that juncture, The Penguin came reeling from the doorway.  
  
He was dazed, badly, which made him more dangerous. He started shooting with his umbrella as he came, and the detectives wisely ducked. The Penguin's shots were wild, as he quickly tried to waddle across the sidewalk. No one was hurt by the first shots.  
  
Before the criminal mastermind could deliver more, Batman quickly climbed out the window and jumped toward The Penguin, using his cape as it were a gliding parachute. The Caped Crusader made a grab for the arch-villian and his umbrella. The pair went headlong into Nebuchadnezzer's car, which was manned by a driver. The Black Bird of Prey had grabbed another gun from an ankle holster and was aiming it at the driver, mouthing a frantic order: "Get going, or I'll blast you!"  
  
Commissioner Gordon was shouting to his officers to do something before The Penguin escaped.  
  
By that time, Batman had gripped The Penguin's revolver and managed to snatch it away from the crook. Half in the car, the little society king of Gotham's underworld made a savage twist, sped his hands to The Dark Knight's throat.  
  
Batman was easily able to knock The Penguin's hands away and slugged him forcibly in the face. The Man of a Thousand Umbrella's finally had enough. He was defeated.  
  
Policemen arrived to drag The Penguin to his feet.  
  
Bullock heard The Penguin mutter, "Damn Caped Creep, it could've worked if it weren't for you and your demented clan!"  
  
"The Penguin just pulled a double cross," said the detective. "Let's see if he wants to talk about it. I can't wait to hear what else he says. He's the man who knows where the diamonds are."  
  
***  
  
The Penguin's real name, as it would read on the criminal indictment, was Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot and he was, indeed, a rare bird among Batman's foes. Always nattily attired in top hat and tails, "The Penguin," as he was so widely known, was a criminal mastermind with a penchant for trick umbrellas.  
  
Behind a two-way mirror, Commissioner Gordon looked at the image of Cobblepot sitting in a plain wooden chair behind a plain wooden table in Interrogation Room Number Three at police headquarters. The Penguin got his nickname mainly from his appearance, the commissioner thought to himself. The villian was short, paunchy, and burdened with a prominent aquiline nose. He imagined that Cobblepot had turned to crime in order to acquire the wealth and power necessary to rise above all those who ridiculed him.  
  
Batman stood alongside the commissioner watching Harvey Bullock do his job in questioning the Black Bird of Prey.  
  
"Has he revealed where the diamonds are, yet?" Batman asked.  
  
The commissioner just shook his head as he watched Bullock stomp from the room.  
  
The detective approached his boss and The Masked Avenger of Gotham City. Bullock said, "The Penguin spoke as though he were the person who had been double-crossed."  
  
Batman continued to stare at his longtime foe through the mirror.  
  
"It doesn't make sense," argued Bullock. "Who could have double-crossed The Penguin?"  
  
"I don't know," replied the commissioner.  
  
"Let me try," Batman said.  
  
It was just a beat before Gordon nodded. Bullock scoffed at the request. He didn't believe that Batman could pry any additional information out of the little crook any better than he could.  
  
Batman entered the interrogation room and stood in front of The Penguin, who looked up and smiled at The Caped Crusader.  
  
"Good evening, my masked adversary," The Penguin said pleasantly. "I suppose you're here to ask me some questions."  
  
Batman just stared and said nothing.  
  
"It could've worked, Batman. Fifteen million big ones. Everyone was fooled -- even you," The Penguin continued.  
  
Batman said nothing.  
  
"Fifteen ..." the crook's voice dropped to almost a whisper, "... big ones."  
  
Batman remained quiet.  
  
The Penguin looked up into the unemotional face of his longtime pursuer. It was his turn to clam up.  
  
In his usual growling whisper, Batman asked, "Where are the diamonds?"  
  
The Penguin looked down and then back up into the face of the Dark Knight. He hesitated for a moment and then with a pained expression on his face, he whispered in a defeated tone, "I ... don't know."  
  
Batman turned and left the room.  
  
"Well?" Bullock asked when Batman returned from the room.  
  
Batman said in a firm voice of conviction, "I believe him. He's been double- crossed."  
  
Commissioner Gordon and Harvey Bullock were astonished. Instead of winding down, the mystery just became deeper.  
  
***  
  
Crime Alley, one of the worst parts of Gotham City. The neighborhood where a young Bruce Wayne witnessed the murder of his parents deserved its nickname. Whenever the heroes of Gotham wanted to take some time out and nab some hoodlums -- this was the place to go. It was like a supermarket of crime. But most of it was done by the lowest of the low on the feeding chain of crime.  
  
On the rooftop of a four-story apartment building that stood on a corner, a solitary female figure stood looking down for some action. The tall brunette dressed in a form-fitting maroon and black costume with a long cape stood in deep concentration.  
  
She didn't hear the approach of another figure, who wisely did not approach the woman too closely.  
  
"Looking for some action?" Nightwing asked The Huntress.  
  
She twirled to face him quickly, not entirely sure who had sneaked up on her.  
  
"You?" she exclaimed.  
  
"Is that the only way you can greet me?" Nightwing asked jokingly.  
  
"I ... I ..."  
  
"It's okay," he interrupted. "I spotted you hanging around and thought I'd just stop and say hi."  
  
"To me?"  
  
"Yeah, why not?"  
  
"I wasn't sure if I'd be welcomed on the team," she replied.  
  
"Well, you're not on the team -- unless HE says so."  
  
"Has he said anything?"  
  
"You'll learn that he doesn't say much," Nightwing instructed. "But I think it's safe to say we all believe you're pretty good at this. You can handle yourself well enough."  
  
She flushed at the statement.  
  
Nightwing looked at her. "Can I ask you something? Why do you want to do this? It's dangerous."  
  
She looked at him for a moment, trying to decide what to tell the longtime partner of Batman.  
  
"I'm the only surviving member of my family. The Mafia dons in this city decided that my family should be exterminated and I want to pay them back in kind," she told him.  
  
"We don't kill," Nightwing responded.  
  
"Hey! You don't know what it's like to ..."  
  
He cut her off quickly. "Who said I don't know what it's like?" Organized crime figures cut down my family, too. But we don't get back at them by killing them. We bring them to justice," he said.  
  
She stared at him.  
  
"I ... they have to pay," she said.  
  
"They do. Listen, if you want to be on the team -- you can't kill. That's just about rule number one." Nightwing said. "If you kill, you're no better than they are."  
  
"They have to pay!" she demanded again.  
  
"They will pay ... trust me," he said softly. "I know."  
  
She stood quietly, comtemplating.  
  
"Look," he said, "you've been a help on this case. I think you can make it." Nightwing held out a small electronic device and handed it to her.  
  
She took the device gently in her hand. "What is it?"  
  
"We call it a comm-link. It's an encrypted radio device we use to communicate," he explained. "You won't be on our primary channel, yet. You'll be on your own private radio channel for now."  
  
He pointed out some features. "Just put the earpiece in your ear and you can press this button for now. Call for 'O' ..."  
  
"O?" she asked.  
  
"That's all you need to know for now," he replied. "She'll send help or give you information if you need it. Don't try to chat, she'll get pissed."  
  
Huntress put the device away in a compartment on her costume. "Thanks," she said with a small smile.  
  
Nightwing nodded. "Stay safe. We'll be in touch."  
  
With that, he threw a Batarang with a line attached to a nearby building and jumped from his nighttime meeting with Gotham City's newest crimefighter.  
  
***  
  
Deep under Wayne Manor was the fabulous Batcave. In the cave's Operation Center, Batman was staring a hole into a large computer projection screen that showed four faces.  
  
In the top left hand corner of the screen was a picture of Alan Clendon. Next to him was a picture of Jon Daley. In the bottom left hand corner was a photo of Isak Droot, and the fourth picture was of Mushy Nebuchadnezzer. These were his four main suspects that could have motive, means, and opportunity to had placed themselves into this intricate plot that included super-criminals, mobsters and intrigue in the diamond industry.  
  
Clendon, Batman decided, was the least likely suspect. According to all records, the man had never had any contact with questionable people. He didn't even have a parking ticket. Bruce Wayne had extensive contact with Clendon and had seen nothing criminal in his nature. Years of experience told The Masked Manhunter that this man was not a suspect in this case.  
  
Batman's fingers started to play on the computer keyboard. He began a computer check into the background of Jon Daley.  
  
While Batman was concentrating on reading Daley's business background, there was suddenly a small cough by his side. The Caped Crusader looked up. "Hmmm? Yes, Alfred?"  
  
"Sir, there is a young lady on the house phone. She insists on speaking to Mr Bruce Wayne."  
  
Almost mindlessly, Batman replied, "Don't we get a lot of those kinds of calls, Alfred?"  
  
"This one is from a Miss Romanova. I believe you spoke to her some months ago."  
  
Batman looked up with interest. "Okay, I'll speak to her."  
  
The Gotham Goliath got up from his chair and walked a short distance to another desk to pick up the phone. After pressing the line, he said, "Hello, billionaire Bruce Wayne speaking."  
  
A smiling voice greeted him with a feminine Russian accent. "Ah, Mr Wayne good to hear you."  
  
"Miss Romanova, what can I do for you?"  
  
"A gentleman who gets right to the point. Very well. I was wondering if you might be able to contact a friend of yours for me?"  
  
"A friend? What friend might that be?"  
  
"Oh, let's say he's tall, dark, handsome, and likes to go out a night to various parts of your fair city," she said cryptically.  
  
"I'm not sure who you are referring to," he replied.  
  
"Oh? I'm sorry to hear that," she coyed. "Well, if you happen to run into him you may wish to tell him that there is a man I am following that he might be interested in talking to. It seems this South African gentleman has some diamonds that may be of some interest to your friend."  
  
That statement got Batman's attention. He cleared his throat. "Where might my friend happen to meet you?"  
  
He could hear the smile on the other end of the phone. She told him, "Across the street from Number 24 Kingston Square. Would your friend know where that is?"  
  
"I believe it's in the part of the city that is called University Village," he replied.  
  
"Marvelous! I hope your 'friend' can join me."  
  
The phone clicked.  
  
"Something of interest, sir?" Alfred asked.  
  
"You might say that," Batman answered. "I'll be going out, Alfred."  
  
"Very good, sir."  
  
***  
  
It was a dark night in Gotham as the Batmobile quietly pulled up in the alley across the street from Number 24 Kingston Square. Batman got out of the vehicle.  
  
A short distance away, a beautiful woman in black with long red hair stood in front of him.  
  
"You are ..." he started.  
  
"Black Widow," she answered holding up her hand. "I understand you don't like it when interlopers come into your city. But I've been following an international case that has led me here."  
  
Batman led the way toward the side of the building across the street from the address she gave. He wanted to eyeball the target. The two costumed figures knelt low behind some bushes.  
  
"What case was that?" he whispered to her.  
  
"Some time ago in Amsterdam there was a murder. The murderer was a well- known diamond cutter by the name of ..."  
  
"Isak Droot," he finished.  
  
There was a look of surprise on Black Widow's face. "You are good," she told him.  
  
Batman kept his eyes on the building across the street.  
  
Black Widow continued, "While following this Droot, I found he had a great deal of contact with another gentleman by the name of Jon Daley. A South African."  
  
"Yes, I've been checking into his background as well. My research isn't complete, yet," Batman explained.  
  
"Did you know he was former mercenary soldier?"  
  
A light bulb turned on in the Caped Crusader's head.  
  
"Interesting. Good with a gun, I presume?"  
  
"Very," she said.  
  
Batman remembered the night in the alley when Growdy was struck down by an unknown sniper.  
  
"Want to check this building out?" Batman asked the woman.  
  
"I thought you'd never ask," she smiled.  
  
***  
  
Number 24 was an old house, boarded and dilapidated, that looked entirely unoccupied. The Gotham Avenger and the Black Widow moved through a passage beside the building.  
  
They noted a basement grating that looked loose. Working on it, Batman pried the grating away. Two shapes shrouded in darkness, they slid through and crept into the cellar, picking their path by the guarded beam of a tiny flashlight.  
  
Batman turned off the flashlight when he saw a light ahead. The glow came from the bottom of a closed door. Approaching, The Masked Manhunter and the remarkable woman found the door locked, but he worked deftly and silently with a tiny lockpick that he obtained from his utility belt.  
  
Under Batman's probing skill, the lock yielded. The Caped Crusader inched the door inward.  
  
He saw a squalid room, furnished with a cot, a table, and a workbench. On view were the special tools used by diamond cutters, with machines for grinding and polishing. The delicate equipment proved the place to be the hideout of Isak Droot, but the man himself was absent. Seeing a door at the front of the room, Batman, with Black Widow behind him, moved across to it.  
  
At guttural sounds from the other side, Batman wheeled away, just as the door came sweeping inward. Two men launched into the room. One was Droot, scrawny but agile, his withery face lifted. The other was Daley, who had arrived and pushed his way in through the front.  
  
Droot must have heard Daley's entrance and gone to meet him. Daley was as violent as Droot, and was brandishing a gun to offset the hammer that the other man waved. They were shouting at each other in Dutch, but most of their words were oaths peculiar to the language. Though Batman knew the tongue, he caught but little from their argument.  
  
Then Batman was interrupting in a language that all could understand: his fists. The two fighters swung and drove for him. Whether the emergency had united them, The Dark Knight did not wait to learn. He met them with swinging feet and hands that clubbed the hammer from Droot, the revolver from Daley.  
  
It was Droot who managed a twist in the direction of the room's front door. As Black Widow downed Daley with the swing of her foot, Droot scooped up the lost revolver and dashed away with it. There was murder in the fellow's yells. Evidently Droot was going berserk, as he had in Amsterdam.  
  
Batman went after Droot. Catching up to the older man, The Masked Manhunter swung the murderer around by the shoulder and slugged him in the face with a quick jab. Droot dropped to the ground unconscious.  
  
Turning back to the room, Batman quickly saw that the Black Widow had things well in hand. Daley may had been a mercenary but he was no match for the fighting prowess of a woman of extraordinary talents and experience.  
  
Batman spoke in the air. "O? Two to be picked up by the police at 24 Kingston Square. You can tell Bullock that it's Daley and Droot."  
  
"Roger, boss," came the reply in his ear.  
  
"I see you have hidden helpers," Black Widow remarked. "I met two of them when we rescued your friend Bruce Wayne from some clown and his girlfriend."  
  
He only nodded.  
  
Batman grabbed Daley by the lapels of his jacket and lifted his face toward him. "Where's the jewels?" Batman growled.  
  
Daley laughed at him. "That's what I came here to find out, too, you costumed freak!" he spat.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Droot was supposed to be holding the Durban Diamond," the South African explained. "I've known him for a long time. He was supposed to get the Durban to cut from that Penguin chap. We were going to take it and run ... split the profits. He does the cutting, and I have the contacts to sell it."  
  
"But?" Batman asked.  
  
"He don't have it!" Daley cried out. "He don't have it! We don't know what happened."  
  
Batman threw Daley back down to the floor. The Penguin was double-crossing Regal and all his minions. That plot failed. The Penguin was supposedly being double-crossed by Daley and Droot. Now that apparently failed. So where were fifteen million in diamonds? Who had them?  
  
Men were coming through the front. Bullock had arrived, with a few members of his squad. They caught Droot in the glare of their flashlights. He was quickly handcuffed.  
  
Batman did not wait to talk to Bullock. He was a capable detective, he knew what would have to be done, here.  
  
Grabbing the hand of the Black Widow, the two costumed vigilantes glided back along the darkened hall to the rear of the building. Again, Batman was in darkness, when the police reached Droot's room and took Daley into custody. Past the rear door, The Masked Manhunter and the remarkable Russian woman watched while the detectives searched for diamonds and found none. Meanwhile, Bullock was shaking Daley back to his senses, demanding to know what he knew about the missing millions.  
  
The South African would probably relate the same story to the detective.  
  
Moving out to the open grating with Black Widow, Batman thought about how his race to this hideaway had not worked out as he had hoped. The Caped Crusader with the help of Black Widow had handled matters, so far as Daley and Droot were concerned, but the diamonds were still missing.  
  
This case had run into so many dead ends. Beginning with Whitey; following with Ape Bundy, Stephen Helk and Bob Holbert; even in such cases as Wallingham, Rendy, and Growdy -- the crime ring had been dropping excess weight, losing small-fry members who could have talked too much.  
  
Much of that had been planned by the brain behind the game. Of which Daley was one.  
  
Nevertheless, Batman had cracked the case wide open, by proving that Curly Regal was not the big-shot that the law supposed. The Penguin, gentleman crook who managed the actual robberies, had been working for some hidden brain -- not for Curly Regal.  
  
Batman had to keep going while the trail was hot, otherwise fifteen million in diamonds might leave Gotham City and soon.  
  
Once again, the two costumed figures found themselves across the street from the building of which now the police occupied.  
  
"Need a ride someplace?" Batman asked the Black Widow.  
  
She shook her head and smiled. "Thank you for letting me help you. Maybe we'll get together again sometime in the future."  
  
Under other circumstances, he would had liked to think about that possibility in his mind. But there was one thing that kept him from thinking in that manner and her name was ... Selina.  
  
***  
  
A few hours later at police headquarters, Jon Daley was glowering from a corner in an interrogation room at Commissioner Gordon. No longer bland, Daley became stubborn at Gordon's questioning. The commissioner was still at it when others appeared.  
  
One arrival was Judith Trexel. Seeing the girl, Harvey Bullock realized that she must be the double who had played the part of Cynthia Crawford. Bullock waited to hear the girl's story before arresting her.  
  
Judith told it, not only to Gordon and Bullock but to Clendon and a few of the association jewelers, the persons who had suffered the actual losses through robbery. The girl's story carried the ring of conviction. It was accepted without question.  
  
Pointing to Daley, Gordon queried: "Did you ever see this man, Miss Trexel?"  
  
"I don't think so," replied Judith. "He might have been at the diamond show the first night --"  
  
"But did The Penguin mention him? Did he speak of a man named Jon Daley?  
  
Judith shook her bead. Daley gave a smirk and settled back in his chair. He wasn't groggy any longer, but he pretended to be when Gordon began to ply him with new questions.  
  
Daley's silence produced a conference between those involved. Finishing with a nod, Clendon turned to Gordon.  
  
"We can link Daley with Droot," declared Clendon, "by referring to some trade-journal reports of a few months ago. I think that Daley made statements which appeared in print."  
  
"Where are the journals?" queried Gordon. "At your office?"  
  
"Yes," replied Clendon, "and I believe they may contain some other data. Some correspondence from the South African diamond syndicate."  
  
The commissioner nodded and sent Clendon to get the information.  
  
Gordon returned to the interrogation room and glared at Daley. "Behind your crimes lay a double motive," declared Gordon. "Not only did you count upon disposing of the stolen diamonds. You knew that their loss would force new purchases of the uncut product. As a member of the diamond syndicate, you could realize huge commissions, while keeping the stolen goods for the future."  
  
Bullock thrust himself into the discussion. He punctuated Gordon's remark with the demand: "Where have you got the diamonds, Daley?"  
  
"Listen, you doughnut eating flatfoot, I told you twenty times, I ... don't ... know," came the reply.  
  
***  
  
Clendon had found the old trade-journal reports. They proved conclusively that Daley had checked on Droot and found that the wanted diamond cutter was actually in Gotham City.  
  
Commissioner Gordon spoke of Daley's double game. He said, "It occurred to me that Daley had sold those those uncut diamonds in the very beginning so that they could be stolen."  
  
The thing linked home to Gordon. It made the proof complete. Turning to the group, the commissioner gave his summary. "Bringing those uncut diamonds was the first step in Daley's game," announced Gordon. "He needed a man to handle huge robberies, so he picked The Penguin. He gave The Penguin another duty: to frame Curly Regal and make him look like the brain. For the first robbery, The Penguin planted White at The Riddler's house, and Curly sent Ape Bundy to stage the robbery --"  
  
"Which failed," croaked Daley. "Don't forget that, commissioner."  
  
"It was supposed to fail!" exclaimed Gordon, who was in his finest form. "So that Curly Regal would be forced into hiding. It must have been The Penguin who called the Templeton Club and gave the tip-off. The real robberies followed. Very probably" -- for once, the commissioner was playing a hunch -- "The Penguin told Curly that the diamonds were going to Droot, for cutting. Only, The Penguin placed them somewhere else. With you, Daley. We know the rest. How The Penguin, in trouble, tried to send Curly off along a false trail. The question is: where are the diamonds? I can answer that. They are where you put them, Daley!"  
  
Again, Daley grinned. "But how did I get them?" he queried. "Can you answer that, commissioner?"  
  
Gordon stopped. He couldn't answer the question. It was still a mystery.  
  
Daley looked about, saw accusing eyes. He licked his lips again, then said: "I'll talk."  
  
But when Daley talked, he didn't tell the things that the listeners wanted to hear. "I knew that Droot was in Gotham," he said. "I was responsible, and I had to find the fellow. It struck me that he was the very man that the crooks would use as a diamond cutter. Tonight, for the first time, I heard where Droot was. I went to see him first. I knew that he would go berserk, and kill, to avoid capture. But I was willing to risk a lone visit, because Droot knew me. I felt, too, that if I turned him over, it would square me for letting him get loose. I'm sharp, but not crooked. You can't prove anything against me. You'll drive me crazy, asking me where the diamonds are, but it won't do you any good. I don't have them. You've heard my story -- make the most of it."  
  
Direct though the statement was, it made no impression on Gordon. The commissioner told Bullock to take Daley away.  
  
"Wait," the commissioner called out. He wasn't finished with the questioning. "Who killed White?"  
  
Daley blinked, actually surprised. It was Gordon who gave answer, a bit irritably. "There was a fight downstairs, remember? That's when White was killed."  
  
"White was murdered beforehand," was the calm-toned reply. "Grant me that, commissioner, on the basis that every crook who knew too much has been eliminated during this run of crime. Even Ape Bundy was eliminated."  
  
"By The Penguin's tip-off!" exclaimed Gordon. " I said that the robbery was supposed to fail. I have it! The Penguin murdered White! Our brain here" -- he gestured toward Daley -- "is supposed to have framed Curly Regal, through The Penguin. We are agreed upon that point, but a brain should have also foreseen that the frame-up might not work. Besides, it didn't quite cover the matter of The Penguin. We must regard The Penguin as a double-crosser, and no super-criminal would trust a tool of that sort. The brain was quite ready in case things went wrong. He had another man upon whom crime could be pinned, should the Curly frame-up be uncovered. But who?"  
  
***  
  
As the police and others were wracking their minds at Gotham Police headquarters trying to figure out who double-crossed who -- Batman was in the Batcave going over some computer files. His great mind also held many of the same questions that were being asked some fourteen miles away.  
  
As she often did, Selina Kyle came into the Operations Center of the cave, wearing an extremely short robe, and drying her beautiful mane of dark hair. She had just got out of the shower and came down to see if she could entice Bruce to forgo any climbing of rooftops this evening.  
  
Without even looking at her, Batman could tell what she had on her mind by the sudden perfume smell in the air. "Selina, how many times have I told you it's best not to come down here practically undressed. What would Alfred think?"  
  
"He's seen me undressed almost as much you have," she replied in a bored tone.  
  
"You expect me to concentrate with you looking like that?"  
  
"I was hoping that you might concentrate on me, yes," she smiled.  
  
He knew he wasn't going to win a banter contest with her -- that was impossible.  
  
"I'm working," he told her.  
  
"You're always working," she said as she worked a finger down his back. "Remember what I've always told you, handsome, all work and no play ... makes a very boring Batman."  
  
"You know," he told her softly, "you're worse here than you were on the rooftops in the past. Now you don't even make a pretense."  
  
"I don't need to," she said sweetly. "I have you wrapped around my little finger."  
  
He growled.  
  
She laughed.  
  
He never looked at her through their conversation. Batman knew that if he did, his concentration would be ruined by her beauty. He kept his eyes on the computer screen, just scrolling.  
  
Suddenly, a picture flashed on the screen. A man who appeared to be from a foreign land with a beard and hair that was beginning to go gray.  
  
"Who's that?" Selina asked.  
  
"Mushy Nebuchadnezzer," he informed her. "He's a new member of the Gotham Jewelers' Association."  
  
She snickered loudly.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
"World's greatest detective," she muttered.  
  
"What?! What are you talking about?"  
  
"Look at that Mushy guy. Or who you think is Mushy. Your brain must be mushy."  
  
"Selina?! What are you saying?"  
  
She laughed. "Any jackass can plainly see that's The Riddler!"  
  
"WHAT?! Are you sure?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sure, stud," she said. "I'm as sure as how turned-on you get when you see me in a short dress."  
  
"How do you know that's him? It doesn't look anything like him."  
  
"Look at the eyes, dear. That's him. Any woman can tell a man by his eyes. If I was disguised, do you think you could see me through my eyes, knowing how you're always looking at them when we're making ..."  
  
"Yes!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Do you have his address?" she asked.  
  
Batman's fingers played across the computer keyboard.  
  
"Yes, it's right here," Batman told her. "When I get over there, I'll thrash him brutally."  
  
"No way, boy! His ass is mine!" she demanded. "I found him, I get first crack. I owe him for trying to kill me in that musuem."  
  
"Haven't you beaten him enough for that?" he asked her.  
  
"NO! You don't understand. There's a rogue's code. He broke it. He has to pay. You can pick up the pieces."  
  
"Oh, gee, thanks," he replied.  
  
Selina ran a finger down his chest and circled the Bat emblem on his chest. In a sexy voice she told her champion, "Don't sound so disappointed. Trust me, lover, when I'm done with him, I'll be ready for action with you. All -- Night -- Long."  
  
She kissed his cheek lightly.  
  
Unfortunately for The Riddler, there was no argument.  
  
***  
  
In many ways Gotham was a very fascinating city. What made it quite unique from many major cities was the vast number of high-rise buildings. Gotham, on a whole, was not very large in land area. Built upon three main and several smaller islands that were surrounded by the Gotham River and Gotham Harbor, space was limited. There weren't that many single family homes available.  
  
After the vast amount of industrial and commercial property, building residential property vertically was better than vast tracks of single homes.  
  
Unknown to many of the residents of the city was a world that was occupied by rooftop dwellers. People who could transverse the skyline as well as most commuters moved through the streets of the city. Among those rooftop dwellers was, of course, Batman, and Catwoman.  
  
In the Diamond District of the city was the Prospect Conduminiums. From the seventeenth floor rooftop, a solitary figure in purple lowered herself to a fourteenth floor window.  
  
Catwoman was beautiful, bold, deadly, highly intelligent and an incredible athlete who was an expert in security systems and stealth entry. This entrance was a piece of cake for her.  
  
Entering through a window, she silently dropped to the floor of the apartment. The room was dark but she could see light coming from other rooms in the condo.  
  
Sometime in the past, before she became romantically involved with her Dark Knight, Catwoman enjoyed these kind of unlawful entries and stealing her victims blind -- often while the people were in the apartment! It was the challenge that gave her an artificial high. She was good. No, better than good -- she was the best.  
  
This time it wasn't a challenge. This was personal. This time someone was going to be taught a lesson. The one to be taught was ...  
  
"Eddie!" she said aloud.  
  
The man whose back was turned to her, packing a suitcase on his couch, jumped at the sound of the woman's voice. He turned to face Catwoman quickly.  
  
"Uh, who are you?!" he said in a phony inflected accent. "How'd you get in here?"  
  
"That isn't important, Eddie," she said. "What you need to know is that your game is over."  
  
"What game?" the man said. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Yeah? Who do you think you're dealing with, here, Riddler? Harley?"  
  
The man started to walk backward as she slowly approached him.  
  
Catwoman bared her claws. "There's an easy way to see what's behind those whiskers you have on your face, Eddie."  
  
He kept backing away from her.  
  
"I have a score to settle with you," she told him. "You tried to kill me in that musuem. What were you thinking, Eddie? You were going to kill me? A longtime friend?"  
  
"I ... I ..."  
  
"Oh, so you do know what I'm talking about, hmmm?" she teased. She kept getting closer to him.  
  
Suddenly, tired of running, the man who had claimed to be Mushy Nebuchadnezzer stopped and his demeaner seemed to change before Catwoman's eyes.  
  
"Hey! Why not, Selina?! You've gone over to the other side," he said. "You've taken up with Bruce Wayne and at night you cavort with Batman!"  
  
The first punch, a left hook to The Riddler's face, was accompanied by the word: "Who."  
  
"I," was delivered with a right jab to the chin.  
  
A kick to the body was sent with "Choose to be with."  
  
The Riddler was sent sprawling to the floor in pain.  
  
Catwoman grabbed The Riddler by the hair forcibly and pulled his head back. In a menacing tone that only she could deliver, the former Princess of Plunder added, "Is none of your business."  
  
With her retractable razor-sharp claws, she began to peel away the false beard that The Riddler had on his face. She had no interest in being careful while doing it and several cuts and nicks adorned her former friend's face.  
  
From behind, another voice was heard in the room. The voice was very familiar to Catwoman and the Prince of Puzzlers.  
  
"That's enough, Catwoman," Batman declared.  
  
The Riddler giggled. "You heard your boyfriend," he said with sarcasm.  
  
He was rewarded with another punch to the face.  
  
Catwoman threw The Riddler down as though she were throwing out a bag of dirty trash into garbage can.  
  
Her voice dripped with venom when she said to her lover, "He's all yours."  
  
Batman picked The Riddler up by his lapels and put his nose up against his longtime adversary's nose. "You're the brain, Riddler. But guess what? It's over. You've lost again. Where's the jewels?"  
  
Catwoman began looking around the room. Who was better qualified to sniff out where fifteen million in gems were? Her eyes locked on a satchel made of alligator leather.  
  
During the robbery at the Hotel Gotham, The Penguin had apparently left the real satchel containing the jewels in a curtain, where The Riddler had picked it up!  
  
To everyone's earlier query, Batman knew who had murdered White. "You killed White, Riddler!" Batman said. "You murdered White because his dirty work was done and you didn't need him any longer. You didn't want him to lead the police to The Penguin! If the police had grabbed The Penguin, no one would've been able to steal the diamonds."  
  
Catwoman opened the satchel. All the stolen diamonds were in it. She pulled out the Durban Diamond and held it her hand, admiring it. Her mind was clicking. She looked at Batman and then back to the huge gem that was worth a fortune, With a wistful sigh, she placed it back in the satchel.  
  
In her head, she could her the voice of Bruce Wayne: "You don't have to steal, Selina. I can buy whatever you want."  
  
Well, having a billionaire for a boyfriend does have it's benefits, she thought.  
  
She said to the Caped Crusader, "Here's the loot, tall, dark and broody. Case closed. I'm outta here."  
  
Looking to The Riddler, she said in an icy tone, "It's been fun, Eddie. Say hi to the gang in Arkham for me."  
  
***  
  
It was about ninety minutes later when Bruce Wayne arrived back to his master bedroom in Wayne Manor. The bathroom door was ajar and the shower was running. He quietly undressed and entered the huge shower stall.  
  
Underneath the water, with her back to him, was the incredible Selina Kyle. The beads of water glistening from her body were a sight to behold to any man.  
  
Bruce wrapped his arms around her and pressed his body against her magnificent form as he kissed the back of her neck.  
  
"Mmmmm," was the response that he received in return.  
  
His hands found two warm globes that he loved to touch.  
  
"I have to thank you," he told Selina, "for helping me."  
  
Squirming underneath his touch, Selina, responded, "Ahhh, I'm sure you'll, mmmm, return the favor."  
  
"That's why I'm here," he teased.  
  
-- Finis -- 


End file.
